


over the valley, blade in hand

by 4wholecats



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: The Sacred Stones
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Animal Death, Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Dismemberment, Eirika Route, F/M, Flashbacks, Graphic Description of Corpses, Implied Necrophilia (it's Orson who else would it be)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 09:21:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 44,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27848466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/4wholecats/pseuds/4wholecats
Summary: Seth loses his sword arm as he and Eirika flee a sundered Renais. Life gets more difficult for both of them.
Relationships: Eirika/Seth (Fire Emblem)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23





	1. dēfugiō

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *revs up my chainsaw* its game balance time
> 
> not that it specifically matters but the age order for seth's family is clara>lalia>calypso>seth>milena>anara>saranna. they all get mentioned/make brief appearances somewhere in this
> 
> this is my first longfic ever,, hope y'all enjoy!

The room Seth is given is small, but he doesn’t have to share it, so that’s a plus. Being on the run for several days without rest has made him acutely aware of the layer of dirt and blood that covers nearly his entire body. Everyone had arrived in more-or-less the same state, and after a quick meeting with King Hayden, the old man had been more than happy to let the group of weary travelers get some much needed rest. Seth wanted nothing more than to collapse onto the nearby bed, but it would be cruel to the cleaning staff to do so without bathing first.

He stacks his armor in the corner in a precarious pile; cleaning and repairing it would have to be a problem for later. His boots end up in a similar predicament; chucked into the corner haphazardly, landing on top of each other and smearing grime on the floor. 

The air feels thin now, as if he’s been running for a long while and is only now stopping to catch his breath.

Pain flares up his legs as he stands on the hardwood, knees unsteady without the leather of his boots and the metal of his armor keeping them firmly in place. The room spins slightly as he stares down at the meager pile. The only belongings he has now, given their quick escape. Well, not counting his horse.

The wall swims into focus in his vision, the harsh stone digging into his shoulder as he leans against it. He blinks away exhaustion as he pushes away with an unsteady hand, unsure of when he had slumped against it for support. 

He shakes his head, rattling his brain back into place and reorienting himself to the task at hand. Starting another pile next to the first, he removes his gloves and tosses them into the corner. His lance hand is almost completely numb; stiff from gripping his weapon so tightly for days on end. He had barely put it down the entire time they were escaping, and now that it was gone, the lack of weight makes him feel off-balance and strange. In the dim light of the window, he can see mottled bruises dotting the palm of his hand, and he frowns.

Vulneraries should have been able to prevent this kind of thing.

Ah, but the medicine had been busy working its alchemical magic elsewhere, hadn’t it? He pulls his left arm out of his coat sleeve, and begins to do the same with his right, achingly slow. The blood has dried, giving the fabric an awful texture that crunches softly when he moves, and he hisses as the injury oozes fresh blood once again.

It’ll be easier to remove it quickly. He’ll have to visit a cleric regardless; so it doesn’t matter if it begins to bleed again.

He grits his teeth, and yanks his arm out of the sleeve. Fresh blood speckles the ground. He balls up the coat in unsteady hands, sending it to join the gloves on the floor. The trickle of red warmth running down to his fingers begins to drip onto the floor in abstract patterns.

His mind goes fuzzy for a moment, thoughts wandering to the others. Was Eirika alright? She wasn’t harmed on the way here, but surely the emotional toll of everything that was happening was crashing down on her right about now. And Franz… he seemed fine before, but Seth hadn’t had the chance to check up on him since they made it to the castle…

His eyes refocus again, and he’s in the bathroom now. He doesn’t remember walking in, and he’s not sure when he got rid of his clothes, but the haze in his mind assures him that it’s probably nothing to be worried about. There is already a bath drawn, no doubt by a maid just after their arrival. The warm water feels good, but when the stiffness of his muscles disappears, he nearly falls, narrowly avoiding smacking his skull on the edge of the sink. How unfortunate it would be, to make it all the way here only to die from a head injury.

Someone must have come by while he was occupied, for the piles of fabric and metal are gone now, and clean clothes have been left on the bed, along with what he can only assume are bandages. He turns the small white bundle over in his hands, not bothering with the shirt. A cleric… A cleric could wait until morning. Truth be told, he wasn’t sure he was capable of making it all the way to the infirmary now. The exhaustion had become a pressing, strangling force on his mind. Not to mention, he didn’t exactly have the floorplan of this castle committed to memory. 

The sun has disappeared entirely. Seth sighs and shuffles back to the bathroom, bandages in hand. He’s made it this far without dying, surely he’ll be fine for just one more night. First thing in the morning…

The roll of gauze is applied sloppily, but there doesn't seem to be blood leaking out anymore. He’s fumbling around in the dark now, spots of dim purple occasionally dancing in his vision.

He wanders back to the bed, falling onto it as soon as his knees make contact with the edge of the mattress. He registers a dull, aching numbness along his right side; like spiders skittering down his arm and resting in the palm of his hand. He ponders moving for a moment, maybe taking a closer look, before sleep pulls him under, drowning him completely.

\---

_ He drops his lance arm, roughly guiding the princess off his horse as the sound of animal roars draw closer. Death comes on the wings of a wyvern, hissing and spitting as it circles up above. Acidic dragon spit dapples the ground, and it burns the grass down to the root.  _

_ Eirika yells something at him, eyes full of fear, but he turns his back on her to face the beast. Its rider smiles, cracked lips stretched to the point of bleeding as he raises his twisted purple lance.  _

_ The fight is over in moments, and the world spins as everything is doused in panic and blood.  _

\---

The first thing Seth realizes when he wakes is that the second he moves, his back may just kill him. He rolls over tentatively, and the click of his joints echo in the otherwise silent room. The exhaustion is… oh wait, no, it’s still there. Perhaps even worse than the night before.

The headache hits him as soon as he sits up, pounding against his skull like a war drum. His injury stirs too, but it’s not pain along his side; it’s that same patterned numbness. A tingle that starts near his shoulder and cascades downwards, making his hand twitch against the bed. 

There’s no new clothes in the room, but since the shirt from last night remains folded on the edge of the mattress, he doesn’t really care. Still reluctant to stand, he yanks it towards him, eyes landing on the dark bruises once again. They seem deeper in color now, but that may just be the light. It’s quite bright out now, probably near mid-day. Normally, he would mentally kick himself for sleeping so late into the day… but given the ache of his bones and the pain in his head, he’s thankful to be awake at all. 

The knight stands, groaning with the effort as every muscle in his body argues vehemently against even the slightest movement. The pain feels less like the product of an overstressed body now. It feels like… a sense of dread, mixed with the dull aches that come from common illness.

Overexertion can lead to weakness, and so can… 

Another spark of numbness runs down Seth’s arm. Infection can also lead to disease, he remembers. At that revelation, the plan to visit a cleric drifts to the forefront of his mind again. The shirt feels clingy and rough against the bandages, but there seems to be no alternative at the moment, and he isn’t ill enough to warrant wandering the halls of a foreign palace in any state of undress. 

His boots are lined up outside his door, cleaned of blood and dirt. After fumbling with the laces for a pathetically long moment, he resolves to simply tuck them in and hope they don’t trip him. His sword hand shakes near violently as he bends his fingers, pain and numbness alternating beneath the skin.

He stands then, arbitrarily picking a direction to walk in. He doesn’t know the layout of this palace, so it’s a blessing when he spots someone vaguely familiar. 

“Princess Tana.”

She turns to him, hands on her hips and a smile on her face.

“Hey there, General. You’re the first one up, I think… I’m still waiting for Eirika,” she says, nodding down the hallway towards a series of closed wooden doors.

“Is she alright?”

“I think so,” Tana nods, shrugging as she goes, “probably just tired. She told me about everything that’s happened, and I was worried she’d pass out right there on her feet. I figure it’s only right to let her have a full day of rest before you all set out again.”

“That’s good to hear… and understandable. I’ll admit I’m feeling a bit under the weather myself. Do you know where I could find a cleric?”

“Uhh…” Tana thinks to herself for a moment, scratching idly at her chin with a gloved hand, “Father Moulder is definitely around, given that he’s marching out with all of you. You should be able to find him on the next floor up, probably packing his things.”

The haze descends again as he opens his mouth to thank her. 

Seth blinks, and he’s at the top of a staircase, knees arguing and pulse hammering in his throat. He grips the railing unsteadily, confusion pooling in his brain like bile. 

Fading in and out of reality… can’t be a good sign of anything.

He hurries down the hallway, trying his best not to look like a fool as he peers inside of all the open doors on the way. Most are empty, people from the castle already up and about. A single room near the end of the hall is occupied by an older man, who is busying himself with folding a cleric’s robe. Seth knocks on the doorframe, and the man looks up, placing the clothing in a weathered travel bag. 

“Excuse me,”

Wrinkles deepen around the man’s eyes as he smiles, beckoning Seth further into the room.

“Hm? What can I do for you…”

“... Seth.”

“What can I do for you, Sir Seth?” 

The air in the room is thin again. The knight takes a deep breath that he hopes doesn’t sound too much like a choked gasp.

“I was injured on the way here, and I’m looking for a cleric. Just to make sure it’s… fine.”

“Ah, you’ve come to the right place. We met in passing last night, but you seemed distracted so I didn’t want to be a bother. What seems to be the problem?”

Seth shuts the door behind him before beginning to fumble with the buttons of his shirt. His fingers refuse to bend. Definitely some sort of infection, then.

The old man ( _ Moulder; last night is coming back in bits and pieces now)  _ is patient, busying himself with folding more clothing. He pulls a chair up to his table, and Seth is glad to sit. He let’s the priest remove the bandages, which are surprisingly clean.

“Hm. That’s certainly not good.” Moulder’s thin mouth disappears under his thick moustache.

It’s the first good look Seth has had of the wound since he received it.

It’s not a deep gash, but the damage is clear. It cuts from his elbow up towards his shoulder, stopping just below where his armor would have deflected the blow. A lucky strike on Valter’s part. The vulneraries had done their best to close the wound, but they weren’t meant to be used on injuries this large, leaving it somewhere between a knotted, scarred mess and a fresh injury, with pockets of blood pooling underneath skin that was far too fragile. Now that he was clean, the dark purple and green bruises are evident, forming a blackened mass around the area before trailing down his arm and into the palm of his hand.

Seth had been pushed out of a tree once during his childhood, and the dark bruises of a shattered leg looked painfully similar. Moulder gets to work with his examination, gently poking and prodding at the area with his wrinkled hands.

“Did you happen to see what weapon did this?”

Seth’s mind flashes back to the man on the wyvern, holding his lance above his head tauntingly.

“It was a lance. I didn’t get a close look though. I was a bit distracted.”

“Oh, I bet.” Moulder hums. “It’s strange. The actual cut doesn’t seem to be bad at all… nothing a vulnerary or two couldn’t fix… but this is… very odd. What have you been doing to heal it? Any staves you can remember?”

The last time he’d needed a stave was months ago, after a particularly rough sparring session. He shakes his head.

“No, we didn’t have a healer with us. I only had vulneraries… I used… perhaps three total in the last few days?”

“I see. That would explain the scarring… but what it doesn’t explain…” Moulder trails off. “Tell me, does it hurt badly?”

“No. It did a few days ago, but the medicine took care of that almost immediately. It feels mostly numb now.”

“Numb..?” Moulder takes Seth’s hand in his own, examining the pinprick bruises on his fingers. 

“Yes, like… pins and needles.”

Moulder frowns at that. 

“That’s quite odd… Sounds like nerve damage, but the wound isn’t nearly deep enough to cause that. Did you fall on it at any point?”

Seth had been very careful  _ not  _ to fall off his horse during the entirety of their journey, especially since Eirika had been holding onto his back much of the time.

“No, I don’t think so. Perhaps I injured it further when fighting?”

“Possibly, if you got hit especially hard… Tell me, aside from this, how are you feeling?”

_ Terrible. _

“A little tired.”

Moulder doesn’t look convinced, a frown crossing his face.

“Are you sure? Just… tired?”

Seth grits his teeth as pain sparks behind his eyes.

“I’ve had a headache since I woke, as well. And a bit of dizziness. All from a lack of rest, I assume.”

“Well, I would hazard a guess that that’s part of it, but… I don’t know. I think you may have been poisoned in some way… or perhaps cursed.”

“Cursed?”

“Mmm. You don’t see cursed weapons around much these days, but if Grado is truly so brazen that they would invade without warning, I have no doubt that they may have turned to… less ethical tactics. Thankfully, there’s an easy way to tell a curse from a poison, you know,” he said, walking over to the single window.

“And what would that be?”

Moulder tugged on the curtain for a moment before letting go, bathing the room in darkness.

“Poison does not glow beneath the skin.”

Softly, between the bruises, there it was; a faint purple luminescence bubbling underneath the twisted scar. Moulder approached again, stooping to examine the spots.

“Yes… magic always leaves it’s fingerprints behind… especially dark magic. You’re lucky.”

“How so?” Seth examines the purple dots on the tips of his fingers. They twitch under scrutiny.

“Curses are nasty little things. They spread, and fast. You’re lucky it went to your hand, rather than your heart and lungs. Would have been a terribly painful way to go.” The old priest wanders back to the windows, re-tying the curtains and letting the light back in. The sudden brightness makes Seth’s head pound with renewed vigor. 

“So, what needs to be done then? How do I get rid of this curse..?”

Moulder plays with his moustache, thinking.

“That depends on how deep the damage is. I’ll have to take a closer look, but this isn’t the best place. There’s an infirmary a few floors down; my medical texts are there. Accompany me, would you? It would be a terrible idea to let it fester any longer.”

Seth stands, shrugging the shirt on once again. He holds the door open for the old man, who thanks him before walking down the hall towards the staircase. The paladin falls into step beside him, gears in his head spinning. There were many gifted mages and healers in his family, but he had never been one of them. He knew that curses were obviously _bad,_ but outside of that-

“Come on now, are you listening?” Moulder is uncomfortably close now, staring up at him with squinted eyes. They’re at the bottom of a flight of stairs that Seth doesn’t remember walking down.

Oh yes. He’d forgotten about these… lapses in presence. 

“Father Moulder, I must admit… I’ve been having some trouble concentrating since we arrived.” Seth does not usually possess a wandering mind, but perhaps that too can be attributed to a lack of sleep.

“That is quite troubling… perhaps we should hurry along to the infirmary then?”

Seth nods, following Moulder around a corner and to the top of the next flight of stairs. He takes a single step downwards after the man, before the numbness and pain flair again, drawing his focus for the umpteenth time that day. He almost doesn’t register the feeling of his knee hitting the next stair, or his other shoulder hitting a stair after that. He hears Moulder’s yelp of surprise, just before his head cracks against the stone of the landing. Then he hears nothing at all.

\---

There’s a haze of light and sound smeared around him, but it's all moving far too fast to keep track of. One of the smears is vaguely person-shaped, but then they are gone as quickly as they arrive, and Seth’s interest shifts like a lazy tide.

There’s a lot of sounds too. Mostly speaking, but the words slide out of his brain like sand before he can process what they are. There’s someone’s hand on his shoulder, and another one on his arm. He can’t be bothered to understand who they belong to.

His head doesn’t hurt anymore, or maybe it does and he just can’t hold onto that thought long enough to make sense of it. Doesn’t matter. It’s cold, wherever they are, or maybe the hand against his shoulder is just unnaturally clammy. 

A soft light comes into view, and a piece clicks into place.

He is no stranger to battlefield injury. He knows a healing staff when he sees one. 

There’s a sharp pain in his side, startling him. He tries to sit up but the light is back again, and so is the cold, seeping under his skin. Someone says his name as the healing light pulses blue, and suddenly, everything goes black. 

\---

_ He’s sitting at a table, staring at a bowl of something green. The walls are too tall, and the floor is tilted and vague, but he doesn’t realize it in the same way that he doesn’t remember that this house burned to the ground several years ago. Calypso is sitting across from him at the table, and even if he can’t focus on her face, Seth knows it’s her.  _

_ She’s also got a bowl, and she’s pushing the contents around with a bored look on her face. He tentatively picks up a nearby spoon and tries the mysterious meal. It looks like some sort of lumpy pea soup, but it tastes like watery cough syrup. _

_ Strange. _

_ But not strange enough to raise any alarm bells. He keeps eating. Food should never be wasted. Even food Calypso makes.  _

_ “So then I said-” She speaks up, but her words are muffled and strange to his ears. Her feet are propped up on the table, and she gestures from her relaxed position in her chair, but he can barely hear what she’s saying. She points at him with her fork, and it’s then that he realizes that his older sister’s hair hasn’t been this long since they were teenagers. _

_ “And then you know what I did? I beat him upside the head. Serves him right.” She grabs her bowl from the table, and places it in her lap. She forgoes the spoon in favor of drinking the slop as if it were in a mug, and Seth grimaces at her. She notices, lowering the sludge to reveal the green moustache it’s left in its wake. She wipes it off with the back of her hand, and when she pulls away the green is gone, replaced by a beady trail of red.  _

_ “Your nose is bleeding.” _

_ She swipes at her face again, and this time it’s splashed with a strange, glowing blue, reminiscent of a healing staff’s magic. Seth decides to let the issue go.  _

_ “You’ve been in a weird mood today, huh. What’s up? Too good for pea soup?” _

_ Every person in Renais is too good for this specific rendition of pea soup. _

_ “No, it’s fine, I just-” Where her voice is muffled, his reverberates inside of his skull, giving him a headache almost instantly. Headache… hadn’t he had one of those… earlier? _

_ She raises an eyebrow at him. A sharp sting overtakes his hand, and he drops the spoon. It clatters to the floor loudly _

_ “I’m just not feeling well,” he lies. _

\---

He wakes with a gasp, sitting up with such force that he buckles forward, head thudding hard against a raised knee. The substance of the dream dissipates, but the pain remains, coursing through his body angrily. He closes his eyes again, and takes a deep breath. 

What happened?

Frelia. The invasion.

There’s no question as to  _ where _ he is, for he remembers arriving at the Frelian palace clearly, and the architecture and décor is easily recognizable. And of course, he’d arrived a little worse for wear, which explains the needling pain along his side. 

Everything is fine. Well- Eirika is fine. Renais was decidedly  _ not  _ fine, but he would address that memory when his head stopped pounding.

His heart slows its hammering against his ribs, and he takes another deep breath. The dream is entirely gone from his grasp now, leaving him with only the vague feeling of foreboding.

He can’t sit in bed all day. He’s needed for preparations. 

He should check on his horse before the march begins. He tosses the blanket off his lap as he reaches for the small pile of folded clothes that a maid had left for him. Blearily getting to his feet, he doesn’t realize that he’s not holding the clothes for a few seconds. He looks at the bundle as if it’s offended him in some way, and then reaches again. Something in his shoulder twitches. He looks down at his hand.

There is no hand.

No hand, no arm, no… anything. He reaches with his other side, tentatively investigating his painful shoulder. Where there was an entire limb yesterday, there was only a lumpy, bandage-covered stump now. The conversation with Moulder flickers in his mind briefly, unearthing itself from the surprise and alarm invading his mind. 

_ “Magic always leaves it’s fingerprints behind. Especially dark magic.” _

He grits his teeth. 

He’s had his fair share of injuries before. His leg’s been broken twice in the same place on two different occasions, and his early days of training resulted in so many concussions that it’s a miracle he can even think at all. Healers can fix a remarkable amount of things. Even the Gods wouldn’t know how to fix this. 

Seth resolves to… not panic. Truth be told, he’s more angry than upset, but the underlying sense of danger still rings true in the depths of his mind. He reaches for the clothes with his other hand, pulling them towards him slowly, as if afraid they might bite him. It takes him an uncomfortable few minutes to figure out how to dress one-handed, and he’s infinitely glad that the shirt given to him has no buttons. He actually manages to tie the laces of his boots, but the part of his brain concerned with appearances for the sake of professionalism berates him for his sloppy, haphazard work. 

Even standing is a bit strange. He leans to the side unconsciously, center of balance destroyed. 

He reaches for the doorknob with a hand that doesn’t exist, only to swear under his breath. He tries again with the other, gripping the metal with what most would describe as “an unnecessary amount of force”.

He barely makes it out of the room before coming face to face with a short man in full Frelian plate armor, holding a lance. The man ( _ or perhaps ‘boy’ would be more accurate)  _ stares at him dumbly, as if encountering a wild animal loosed from its cage. 

“Uh-” The boy stares blankly, but then snaps to attention, digging through his pockets as Seth stares on, confused.

“I have something for you, General!” 

Seth makes an effort this time to  _ actually grab  _ the folded piece of paper being shoved towards him. 

“It’s from the princess; I was told to give it to you when you woke. They departed a few hours ago, and… well, I think she felt bad about leaving you behind without explaining herself.”

Seth’s heart sinks. So they had already begun to march, leaving him behind. He can’t blame them, but the knowledge stings nonetheless. The boy speaks again, this time with an awkward smile. 

“Uh… also I’m supposed to help you if you need anything… so let me know if there’s, uh, anything I can do for you.” The boy is trying very hard not to look at the empty shirtsleeve hanging at the older knight’s side, and was doing a terrible job of it. Seth hums.

“Actually, there is something you can do for me. I arrived on a horse… I need you to go to the stable and prepare it for riding.”

“Riding..?” The Frelian’s eyebrows cinch together. “Don’t you think you should rest, Sir?”

Lalia’s voice screams in his head, something along the lines of “ _ yes, go back to bed for the love of all that is holy, _ ” but he pointedly ignores her disembodied medical advice. He would be more than happy to let her knock him out with her staff once he was sure that all remaining members of Renais royalty were safe and accounted for. And currently, he was coming in at a strong zero out of two. He glares at the boy again, who nervously salutes before clattering his way down the hall. 

Seth shuts the door again, sitting down on the end of the bed. He unfolds the note, and combs his eyes over the neat, flowing script on the page.

_ Seth, _

_ I write to let you know that we have departed the castle, and are now plotting a course towards Grado in hopes of recovering my brother. I would have wanted to wait for you, but the rumors become more gruesome by the moment and I can’t bear to sit idly for even a single day. I’m truly sorry about your injury and I hope that this note finds you feeling at least a little bit better, despite the circumstances. Franz assures me that you know a fair bit about left-handed swordfaire though, and given your stubbornness I can only hope that this situation will pose only as a temporary problem for you.  _

_ Normally, I would request that you travel home and take a holiday in order to recuperate, but alas, it seems as though the route back to Castle Renais travels directly through the Grado throne room as of right now. I hope to negotiate with the King after finding Ephraim, and I open an invitation for you to join me. Of course, if you would rather stay in Frelia where it is safer, I would not blame you. However, if you do wish to rejoin us, and something tells me that you probably do, we will be traveling towards the village of Ide, and then onwards towards the heart of Grado. _

_ Again, I offer my condolences in regards to your current situation... I wish there was something I could have done while traveling. Be rest assured that despite everything, your council and strength are still valued and appreciated among our small merry band, and I would be delighted to see you again when you next have the strength. _

_ Be well, _

_ Princess Eirika _

Seth jumps to his feet. There was no time to waste. 

\---

His horse thunders into Eirika’s small camp half a day later, just as the last bedrolls are being put down. It’s a sad little setup; less than ten tents circled around what would seem to be the beginnings of a cooking fire, with the horses tied to some nearby trees. It’s small scale made it easy to hide however; Seth’s well-trained eyes were the only thing keeping him from riding past the thicket and back onto the road. He had spotted the glint of an axe in the trees before coming face to face (well, horse to face) with whatever village boy the group had picked up along the way and posted to guard duty. 

Everyone looks up from their business as he approaches, expressions ranging from suspicion to relief. He nods at Franz as he dismounts, and when the young knight salutes, the cautious few that Seth doesn’t recognize go back to their work, appeased. He manages to get the reins of the horse securely tied around a thin tree before turning around to face the camp again.

“You can stop saluting now,” he says, turning to face the green-clad soldier after noticing that the boy hadn’t moved.

Franz awakens from his stupor, dropping his hand, then putting it in his pocket, pausing again, and then finally putting it behind his back. He opens his mouth as if to speak, but then closes it, eyes wandering from Seth’s face, to his hand, to his lack of a hand, to the woods behind them both, and back again.

“We… we didn’t think you would be joining us so soon, Sir,” his voice is steady, but he digs his heels into the dirt a little further. A nervous tick.

“Yes, well…” Seth surveys the camp, only half listening to the other’s words. “I was given directions, and there’s hardly time to waste.”

“Of course.” Franz knows better than to question his superiors. Seth likes that about him.

“You found a good spot here. I almost missed it.”

“Yes Sir, we didn’t want to camp too close to the village. Y’ know… in case someone tells the Grado soldiers we were there.”

“Smart. Good work setting up camp too; I didn’t realize you knew how,” Seth remarks. Franz was an officially sanctioned royal knight, but the details of setting up and breaking camp was usually a job for a higher ranking officer.

“Oh! I, uh, wasn’t in charge of that, actually. Princess Eirika actually found the spot and got us started.”

“Princess-?”

He catches sight of her walking between the tents as he trails off. She meets his eyes and tosses aside the roll of canvas in her arms, approaching even as he takes a step back. Franz excuses himself with the expression of someone who had accidentally walked into an occupied restroom, and skitters away to join a bearded man in unloading boxes from the convoy. 

“Seth!”

He tries to smile at her. He really does. But it’s been a long day and the corners of his mouth twist awkwardly on his face.

“Princess Eirika. It’s good to see you unharmed.” His tone is too flat. She’s looking at him warily now. 

“Yes… our new friends from Frelia certainly can hold their own in battle…” She trails off.

She reaches out with one delicate hand then, and before Seth can side-step away, she’s got his empty coat sleeve in her grasp, looking at it blankly with her big, blue eyes.

“So Moulder was telling the truth,” she whispers, more to herself than to him. Seth shifts on his feet uncomfortably, afraid to back away. He reaches up slowly, as not to startle her, and pulls at her fingers until she drops the sleeve. It hangs sadly at his side.

“It’s not as bad as it looks. I feel fine.”

He has certainly felt better, but dull aches and a bit of unbalance was better than violent headaches and wavering in and out of consciousness without warning. Definitely beats being dead. The princess pouts slightly, retracting her hand and wrapping it around her own slender wrist. 

The silence between them could be cut with a blade, and Seth begins to fidget under the pressure. They stand a little ways away from camp, out of earshot of the others, but it feels like everyone is pointedly not looking at the two of them; going about their business with their heads down. Eirika turns around and moves to stand at his side.

“I appreciate that you came all this way. To meet us, I mean.” 

Seth can barely hear her over the sound of Franz dropping a crate full of metal eating utensils. The noise makes the paladin cringe.

“Of course. I received your note and left immediately.”

“I’m glad,” she smirks slightly, “I was going to slip it under your door, but the guard said he would take care of it. I was a bit nervous… He seemed like the forgetful type.”

Seth pulls the crumpled paper out of his pocket, gesturing it towards her before shoving it back into darkness.

A bird chirps behind them before fluttering away, spooked by an animal lurking in the underbrush. The leaves rustle in the spaces between their words. 

“Message received. Nothing to worry about. I would have come regardless of the note, but it was appreciated nevertheless.”

The Princess looks pensively up at him again.

“You’ll be taking it easy, I assume? At least for a little while?”

Seth hums.

“I wish that I could, but I don’t think that I have the luxury to do so at the moment.”

Eirika frowns. Not pouts; frowns.

“I don’t mean to insult you in any way,” she speaks quietly, and Seth knows what’s coming, “but I can’t send you to the front lines with such an injury. A permanent Injury, at that.”

“I can wield a sword with my other hand. I thought Franz told you that.”

“He did. But you fight with a sword and shield, do you not? How will you guard yourself when you hold only a weapon?

Truth be told, he hasn't solved that problem yet. Another worry he had shoved aside in favor of reassuring himself that this development wouldn’t change anything. 

“I’ll simply have to train myself out of the habit.”

“Habit?!” She raises her voice now, and somewhere across camp, he can hear Franz’s voice becoming louder to compensate. The fact that the boy was trying to cover for them was somehow more embarrassing than the alternative. 

“ _ Not dying _ isn’t a habit, Seth! You can’t protect yourself, so I won’t send you out into battle!”

He looks down at her properly now.

“I’ll just have to adapt to the situation. I know you hope for peaceful negotiations, but this war may get far worse than what we’ve seen. I can’t afford to be unprepared, and neither can you.”

Her mouth compresses into a thin, lipless line.

The grass around them bends in the breeze. 

A few feet away, a flint sparks and a tiny fire begins to catch.

His nails dig into his palm, and the pressure is painful even through the fabric of his glove.

“Perhaps-” Eirika is walking on unsteady ground now, and she knows it, “you would reconsider your armor, then. We can find you something a little more protective. We’ll stop at the next armory we come across and see if they carry anything for great knights.”

His father comes to mind, with his greatsword and matching blue plate armor. Seth had inherited the set, after the man’s death, but it was long gone now. Sold. Probably melted down, at this point. It had been in terrible condition.

By the time that Seth finishes wondering what had happened to the old general’s ensemble, Eirika has disappeared back among the tents, leaving an even more awkward silence in her wake. Franz is done talking now, and is starting to pull rations from the cart. Seth sighs, resisting the urge to hang his head, and walks to join him. 

\---

_ It’s a warm day... a warm day from years and years ago.  _

_ He’s on the ground, half laying on his back, elbows catching on the blanket beneath him. He can feel the soft grass through the ratty fabric. His hair is in his eyes as he watches the open road that leads down the hill, away from the house behind him. Saranna, barely six, picks grass off the lawn, stacking the blades methodically on top of his head. She squeaks in anger when he shakes himself free of the clippings, sending them flying back into her round face.  _

_ She squeals again as she’s lifted into the air by someone with a cloud of curly, orange hair. The lady’s words drift from Seth’s mind as soon as she speaks them, and she and the girl disappear, perhaps retreating into the house. _

_ Over the crest of the furthest hill, the silhouette of two horses, a war mount and a pony, appear.  _

_ Seth stumbles to his feet and jogs a few steps closer to the road, right hand over his eyes to shield himself from the sun. The man is talking to the girl on the pony, but looks up as they approach. He makes eye contact with Seth, and the world is submerged in a murky blue hue. _

\---

The armor isn’t quite the right size, but it fits.

Seth dutifully ignores the way that the interlocking plates make it difficult to move and breathe, just as he ignores the way the pain in his shoulder has fired up again. It’s dull and aching, and it distracts him from important work. Work, such as figuring out how to put on a vambrace with only one hand. 

“Do you need some help there, General?”

Garcia doesn’t wear much by way of armor, but here he is in the storage tent regardless. Seth considers the older man for a moment, before holding out his arm tentatively. 

“I appreciate the help, Sir.”

Garcia scoffs.

“I’m no ‘sir’ anymore. Not for a long time now. You can just call me Garcia.” He finishes buckling the armor and gives the knight’s hand a friendly shake. Seth hums under his breath in response. He’s been humming a lot recently. Thoughts ping around in his head far too fast to verbalize.

“Not happy wearing so much armor, I assume?” Garcia’s tone is light. Conversational. “I can relate to that myself... When you get to be my age, It just weighs you down. I prefer to dress lightly for the occasion.” The axeman is dressed in civilian clothes, the only indication of his status as a soldier is the warhammer he’s left leaning against a nearby crate. 

“Why did you come to this tent, if you don’t wear armor? If you don’t mind me asking, of course.” Seth straightens his sword sheath. He’d fastened it to the wrong side of his belt the first time. 

“Well, to be quite honest, you’ve been in here for quite a while, and I think your subordinate was getting antsy.” Franz was always slightly on the ‘antsy’ side regardless of what was happening around him, but the sentiment was appreciated regardless.

“Ah, well. Thank you on both of our behalves then.”

“Of course. Say, where are you stationed today? In battle I mean.”

It had taken a fair bit of arguing to convince Eirika to let him fight at all. He wouldn’t be leading any charges, but he would be present, hanging out near the back and watching for enemy reinforcements. In these trying times, the little victories were everything. 

“I’ll be covering part of the right side. Near the treeline. You?”

“Oh, I’m hanging back as well. I need to get a feel for how this little group works before I charge headfirst into any danger. And besides, I don’t want to leave my son to fend for himself completely just yet.”

“Understandable,” Seth nods as he finishes fastening his cape. “Well, I suppose I should go prepare my horse then,” he says, turning to leave.

“Wait, before you go, I have a suggestion.” Garcia turns around, rummaging through a nearby medical kit. He spins around after a mumbled grunt of approval, holding a small metal object in his hand. A pin, one used to hold together canvases for tents.

“See, I had an old friend back in the service… took a few nasty hits, quite like yourself. Lost a leg from the knee down, as well as a hand. They practically had to lock him up in order to keep him from marching, in the end. Tenacious old bastard,” the warrior trails off, eyes looking at nothing in particular, lost in memories. He shakes his head with the ghost of a smile on his face, and approaches. 

“Your sleeve,” Garcia explains, holding the pin out and placing it in Seth’s outstretched hand. “You shouldn’t leave it dangling like that. It could get caught on a weapon, or grabbed.”

Seth turns the tiny, sharp object over in his hand, considering it. Of course the veteran was right. Even the smallest tactical disadvantage could spell doom in the right situation. With an impressively low amount of sharp objects dropped, he rolls his sleeve and pins it to his shoulder, careful to avoid bandages. Satisfied, Garcia nods at him, and holds the opening of the tent open for them both. 

“You seem like a man who’s got his ducks in a row, so I’m sure that you’ll be fine. And you know, when it’s hidden by your cape like that, you almost can’t tell.”

Seth feels a bit better.


	2. dēprimō

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH YEAH if you like this please leave a comment... I read and respond to all of them I love feedback!!

Seth feels very, very bad. 

He watches dully as his horse bucks against the ground, legs kicking in the air in an attempt to right itself. It pulls its heavy body to its feet, ears flattened back against its head as it kicks and paws at the earth. The unholy horror floating nearby unsettles it, and it shrieks in response to the alien mass’s clicks and hisses.

Seth stands, armor scraping away at the tree trunk behind him as he goes. The monster had understandably spooked the horse, and since he was unable to grip the reins and his sword at the same time, he had been thrown. Hard. Into nearby foliage. Onto his bandaged stump.

He grits his teeth and raises his sword at the horror. He does not have the luxury of rest yet. 

The beast turns from his horse to look at him with it’s gaping, disembodied eye, colored a glowing, unnatural red. It’s tentacles twist through the air as if swimming, and without the need for wings it creeps towards him, glaring all the while. He dodges what can only be a black magic attack. 

_ “Magic always leaves it’s fingerprints. Especially dark magic.” _

His shoulder throbs again in recognition, and he shifts his stance. 

He doesn’t have any spare limbs to give. This must be dealt with quickly and carefully.

The creature approaches again, unblinking. Seth dives under its next attack, drawing his sword under its soft, gelatinous underbelly as he goes. Yellow bile spills out, splattering the ground as the monster chatters, turning to face him and smacking away his unsteady hand with a tentacle as it goes.

The blade clatters to the ground, covered in yellow slick. 

The eye opens wide once again, and Seth, in a moment of particularly poor decision making, curls his hand into a fist.

He has never punched someone in the eye before. Not even as a child. But Calypso definitely had, and he knew how delicate the soft organs were. Especially when there was no skin or bone protecting them from the outside. 

His gauntlet tears through the monster’s pupil with a wet ripping sound as bile splashes onto the ground between them. In the wet mess, he feels something firm, so he closes his hand around it and yanks as he attempts to pry away the monster’s flailing body with a kick. Another tearing sound follows, and the beast’s corpse hits the same tree he had been thrown against before, sagging and thoroughly dead. He drops the pulsing, wet organ that his fist had closed around, flicking some of the mess off of his armor with a shake of the wrist. 

He almost doesn’t notice the chattering of bones behind him until it is too late. 

The skeleton’s lance doesn’t pierce his armor, but the dents are enough to knock the wind out of him, causing him to slip in the yellow puddle and fall to his knees. The undead wastes no time in tossing its javelin, which lands low, the tip breaking through his leg armor enough to hurt, but not maim. 

Seth growls, gripping the short weapon and yanking it out, spinning it around to use as his own. He makes it two steps before something loud clangs against his back. 

Longbow arrows are built to puncture armor from a safe distance. 

He slips again, and his vision is clouded by yellows, greens, and the smell of pus and ichor. As he falls, he swings his javelin at the skeleton he had stolen it from, and it catches the monster between the ribs, knocking it’s vertebrae out of alignment. It’s legs give way, and bones scatter and roll as they hit the ground.

As Seth rolls to recover once more, the arrowhead digs further into his back. He can almost feel it scraping against the bone of his ribs. The second skeleton is pulling another arrow from it’s quiver, and Seth leaps to his feet and charges despite the pain. 

He doesn’t even bother with the javelin this time.

He slams the skeleton into a nearby tree with the full weight of his body, crushing its dry and dusty skull against the rough bark with his pauldron. The crunching noises and clicks of defeat are music to his ears as the bones become a dusty pile, plunking to the floor in a heap. The knight heaves a sigh of relief, balancing against the tree before pushing away. His sword sits sadly nearby, and he scoops it up as he moves to wrangle his nervous horse. 

Yes, things could certainly be better.

\---

“Keep it clean, and it should heal without a scar within the week.”

Moulder shuffles around the medical tent, healing staff in hand. The arrow wound on Seth’s back tingles with the after-effects of magic and the sting of another fresh scar. It feels much worse than it actually is; the thick armor plating had done its job well.

“Before you go, have you been taking care of this?” the cleric gently nudges Seth’s shoulder with the jeweled tip of his staff. The knight grimaces, the slight pressure uncomfortable. 

“As best as I can, given the current situation.”

He’s not lying. It’s just that supplies, including clean water and bandages, are scarce. Moulder looks unconvinced. 

“Let me look, would you? Humor me.”

“You are welcome to check it, if you so desire,” Seth sighs, holding still as the man cuts away the sweat and grime stained gauze. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

He’s only half telling the truth, of course. It bothers him quite a bit, especially when he lays down to rest and has nothing else to distract him from the aching, itching, and absence. Moulder’s hands are gentle, but the touch is rough on still healing skin.

“Oh, it’s much better than I expected… given the amount of supplies we have on hand.”

Seth can’t see the full extent of the damage from this angle, but the scarring, angry and red as it is, tells him all that he needs to know. He bites his tongue as pain lances through his shoulder, Moulder’s hand approaching the much more unhealed portion of the injury.

“It’s almost completely closed… a few more weeks of healing and you won’t have to bandage it anymore.”

“Weeks? You can’t use a staff on it?”

Moulder shakes his head, moustache bristling as he bites his lip in thought.

“No… I said it was healing well, but it’s still in a fragile state. Using a staff would be overdoing it… we don’t want complications; tumors and such.” 

Seth frowns, but does not argue. Cancerous growths weren’t worth the risk, especially when he was needed in battle. Moulder unwinds a length of clean gauze and begins to rewrap the wound. 

“Father Moulder, if you don’t mind me asking-” Seth does his best to stay still as the older man reaches around his back in an awkward half-hug motion, passing the bandages from one hand to the other, “I trust that you… you are the expert obviously, uh…”

Moulder finishes his work, tying the gauze and backing away towards a nearby pail of water to clean his hands. Seth reaches for his shirt as he continues to mangle his thoughts. He doesn’t want to question the man too harshly, but…

“You’re wondering whether it was absolutely necessary that I remove it?”

Seth blanches. He didn’t intend to be so direct about it. 

“If- if you don’t mind me asking.”

The old priest sighs, and under his calculating gaze Seth suddenly feels very self conscious. He finishes pulling on his shirt, staying silent even when the fabric scratches at the scars, burning them.

“To be quite honest… well, I think that removing your arm is definitely the right choice, if that is what you want to know. I wouldn’t have done it if there was another option available. After you fell and I got a chance to take a closer look… It was rotten, Seth. The curse rotted you to the bone. It was like cutting open a corpse. I’m sure that… with time and resources, it could have been healed in a more… holistic way, but I was afraid that if I did not act quickly, there would be consequences.”

Seth grimaces at Moulder’s description. “Of course. I’m sorry for… questioning your knowledge of the subject. I was simply curious.”

Moulder smiles gently. “No worries, no worries. It’s natural to be curious about these kinds of things, of course. Would you like to know what I did with it?”

He can’t stop himself from pulling a face, years of professionalism aside. “No- no, I don’t think that I do; unless you did something illegal with it.”

Moulder waives a hand. “Of course not! I burned it, as I would any other piece of hazardous waste! You young people and your wild imaginations…”

Seth’s stomach flips, and he excuses himself from the medical tent. His fingers, the ones turned to rotted ash days ago, ache.

\---

After the liberation of Serafew, Seth begins to see a new face in the medical tent. She’s a young woman; a nun by the looks of it. He notices her on the battlefield more and more, and mentally questions the logistics of wearing white in a warzone every time. These thoughts pass through his head now as he approaches her, observing that the front of her robes has been splattered with gore. The nearby body of a Mogull, squashed by some manner of war axe, is the obvious culprit. He calls down to her from atop his horse.

“Are you quite alright?” 

The priestess jumps at the sudden noise. She doesn’t look hurt, but she does look scared, eyeing the horse and it’s rider warily. 

“I’m fine… just hanging back where it’s safe for now,” she says, voice wavering slightly. The fog has cleared a bit here, and Seth can see the vaguest outline of allied soldiers fighting in the dim up ahead. Seth’s horse paws at the damp grass. The nun speaks again, a bit more steady this time. 

“I don’t have a weapon to defend myself, you see… so I must stay back and let everyone else do the fighting.”

Seth nods, surveying the surrounding area. It would be unwise to let their guard down, even in this seemingly safe clearing. He’d heard the beating of wings before, greater in number than just Vanessa’s pegasus.

“After this battle, it would be wise to allow someone to train you. I hear that Miss Lute is an excellent source of knowledge.”

“Ah, perhaps,” the nun agrees, gripping her staff tightly as an animalistic screech sounds from somewhere just beyond the haze. “I’ll admit, I don’t know if I have the heart for it. I know they’re monsters, but some of them… They’re undead, correct? They were human once; it seems wrong for a woman of the cloth to end a life in such a way. Even if they are already dead, as it were.”

Again, the sound of wingbeats just out of reach. Seth turns his eyes to the sky, struggling to see even the sun through the thick fog. 

“I understand. Allow me to accompany you for the time being. It would be unwise to leave you unguarded, especially when we can barely see a stone’s throw ahead.” He glances around again before cautiously sheathing his sword and extending a hand to the cleric. She climbs onto the saddle behind him, holding tightly to the fabric of his cape as he reaches for his lance. If there are fliers abound, the extra reach will be necessary. 

“My name is Natasha, by the way,” the cleric says. She sounds much calmer now that she’s hiding behind a much larger, more armored person. 

“It’s a pleasure. My name is Seth; I’d shake your hand, but I’m afraid I’m a bit preoccupied at the moment. Forgive my rudeness.” He’s only half joking, of course, but Natasha giggles regardless. 

“Ah, of course. Don’t let me distract you from your work then.”

Their horse trots along cautiously through the mist, following the shadows of the others as they flicker in and out of being. There’s been no sign of Eirika since the battle started, when she darted ahead into the mist after the mage and his victims. He searches for her form in the haze. She did tell him to stay behind and protect the vulnerable… but in these battle conditions,  _ all _ of them were equally at risk. Natasha hums quietly behind him.

“So, Sir Seth. You are a paladin of Renais then?”

“Something like that.” While his rank had not changed, his status as a soldier was a bit of a mess at the moment, complete with a very much cobbled together supply of armor and weapons. The lance in his hand is light and throwable to compensate for his current lack of dexterity, and he grips it tightly at the sound of another monster’s dying scream. 

“I’m no expert on war tactics, but don’t horsemen usually lead the charge? What brings you to the tail end of our group?”

Seth frowns, and is glad for the woman’s short stature. She can’t possibly see his face over his shoulder. 

“I’m recovering from an injury. I’ve been asked to… hang back for the time being. Someone has to bring up the rear, after all.”

Eirika hadn’t asked him; she had  _ ordered _ him to stay put as she dashed off into the mist alone. It took every fiber of his being to obey, a decision he was regretting more and more as minutes ticked by with no sight of the princess. 

Natasha shifted behind him. 

“Ah, I understand that. I’m injured as well, you see. An arrow found its way into my arm as I escaped from Serafew, and my fingers haven’t stopped twitching since-” She’s cut off by a yell, close enough to make them both jump.

A pegasus knight’s lance misses them by only a few inches, aim obstructed by the fog. Seth parries her as she swoops in a second time, knocking her javelin aside before urging his horse forward.

Their attacker does not relent, even as the two gallop away. She dives again, aiming this time for Natasha; a white and red target easily visible despite the haze in the air. Seth swings wide, catching her pegasus by the underbelly and piercing it’s stomach as it careens past. It whinnies in panic before slamming into the ground head first, bones crunching as it’s rider is thrown. They pass her body as they storm away from the scene; it lays with broken limbs and a cracked, twisted neck. Natasha buries her face in Seth’s back and wraps her arms around his middle, refusing to look at the carnage that her presence inspired. He can hear her mumbling something, and through the myriad of post-combat assessments and plans for future maneuvers, he identifies it as a prayer. Whether it’s for them or the girl, he can’t tell. 

Seth fells two more pegasi and a single Mogull before the fog finally starts clearing. Natasha is sobbing in earnest now, and even though she’s been protected from much of the splattering blood, a trickle of red still runs down her face like a tear when he turns to make sure she’s alright. It’s only after they find Eirika, seething over the body of the mage but thankfully alive, that Natasha slips off the horse, grabbing onto the saddle to steady herself.

“Are you… unharmed?” Seth can’t see any injuries on her, but it doesn’t hurt to ask. The cleric shakes her head, but a shaky whimper leaves her lips.

“Where are you hurt?” The knight leans down slightly to get a better look at the woman, even as she covers her face. 

“I-I’m… I’m not hurt, I just-” She hiccups, wiping tears from her eyes. Her face has become blotchy, and the blood staining it smears like poorly applied makeup. “I knew… I knew this was war. I knew. I’m not a fool. I just… I just…”

She trails off, sniffling in the silence between them. Seth straightens up, averting his gaze. It seems wrong to look her in the eyes after physically bringing her so much closer to the suffering. She excuses herself with a shallow bow, picking up her skirts and rushing to a nearby wagon and climbing inside. The sound of an approaching horse does nothing to distract Seth from the gnawing feeling of guilt in his chest.

“Sir, it looks like all the beasts have been routed. Lady Eirika managed to get rid of the spider as well, so the villagers should be alright once we take them home.”

“Oh… Good to hear, Franz.”

Eirika stalks past them both, expression sullen as she makes her way back to the convoy. Seth watches her go, noting the way that her sword trails in the dirt behind her; bloodied and bent.

“You don’t need to worry about her, Sir,” Franz says, eyes darting between the general and the retreating princess. “I followed after her and made sure she was alright. Dame Vanessa was a big help as well.”

Overhead, a pegasus whinnies as it begins to circle the group, and Seth cringes for Natasha’s sake. 

\---

_ He sits at a table, a handful of bent playing cards held tightly in his grip.  _

_ “I can see your hand, you know.” Forde’s voice is drawling, thick with liquor and hubris as he covets the small pile of playing chips in front of him. Playing for money is illegal, but Lieutenant Shamil doesn’t seem to care as he slides two silvers across the table. Orson glares at him, and the man rolls his eyes and takes the money back. _

_ Seth has no chips. Seth never has any chips. He’s terrible at poker, but he chooses this over laying in bed and waiting for the rest to finish their game and turn out the light.  _

_ Orson says something, and Seth notices that he looks… off. His face is sallow and sweaty, and his beard has taken on a patchy, rough texture. The bags under his eyes are as dark as bruises, and he looks from one trainee to the next as if worried that they might attack him. Why is he worried? It’s only a game… _

\---

He sees Natasha during their siege on Renvall, tome in hand and a determined look on her face. She doesn’t attack any of the enemy soldiers, but she does char a ballista to ash, which counts as “doing her part” in Seth’s eyes.

He wants to talk to her again after the dust has settled, but the medical wing of the captured fort is crawling with the injured, so he lets her be for now. The sound of someone calling his name draws him from his thoughts as he surveys the center stronghold. The knight turns to find Ephraim, dirty and exhausted, making his way towards him with a broad smile plastered across his face.

“General! By the Gods am I glad to see you,” Ephraim stops uncomfortably close, slinging an arm around Seth’s neck in a casual hug of greeting. The knight grunts as the price claps him on the back, rattling his armor and pressing metal into carefully wrapped wounds.

“I’m happy to see that you’re alright, Milord,” Seth responds as Ephraim lets him go. The prince stares at Seth’s armor, observing it’s ill fit and mismatching colors. 

“Hey, uh… what are you wearing?”

Seth frowns. 

“Lady Eirika requested that I wear more protective armor from now on, to make up for my lack of a shield.”

“What happened to your shield?”

Ah, Ephraim was never the most observant man around.

“Uh- nothing, my lord. I simply no longer have the means to use it,” Seth raises his left hand, which still holds his lance. Ephraim’s eyebrows scrunch together for a moment, not understanding, before he puts the pieces together with wide-eyed realization. “Your hand!”

Seth drops his tired arm, allowing the dull end of the lance to thud against the stone floor. He nods his head as Ephraim ogles the empty space at his side, mouth slightly agape. 

“I didn’t even notice… what happened? That- that’s not from right now, correct? You’re not about to bleed out, are you?”

“No,” Seth shakes his head. “It happened weeks ago. As your sister and I fled the castle. It’s been so long that I barely notice the difference now,” he lies. Despite his poor card game skills, he’s always had a rather effective poker face, and Ephraim’s expression shifts from one of distress to a more curious mood.

“I see… I’m sorry. Getting used to something like that during a war must be hell… Is that why you’ve been hanging back from the front lines?”

“Princess Eirika’s orders.”

“Ah,” Ephraim snorts, “yes, she would ask that, wouldn’t she...”

They stand in silence together, watching allied soldiers begin to filter into the great hall. Seth catches sight of Forde and Kyle crossing the room, and raises his lance in greeting when Forde waves.

“Well, I’m starved. They don’t feed you well in the dungeon… so I’m gonna help Forde raid the kitchen. Care to join?” Ephraim casts a sidelong glance over at the knight. Seth frowns at Ephraim  _ (surely the pillaging of the castle’s resources should be left to someone else?) _ before sighing and falling into step behind him. It had been a long day, and food sounded good.

They arrive to find the kitchens already thoroughly trashed. In the center of the mess, sitting on a stool rifling through an unlabeled box of rations, is Forde. His armor is already gone and his posture is relaxed as he turns over packets of food, reading the notes scribbled on their labels before putting them back in the box. He looks up as the two men make their way over.

“Hello, Milord. Good to see you, General,” he says, smiling as he toasts at them with a loaf of slightly squashed bread. 

“Anything good?” Ephraim asks, peering into the box before turning around and picking up a box of his own. He hoists it only a nearby countertop and dumps its contents; some form of dried meat product. 

“Nah… most of this more of that nasty stuff they fed us in the cells… It is edible though, so it might be worth bringing some along when we march…” He looks to Seth, a packet held aloft in his hand. “Catch!”

The knight barely manages to grab the item as it hits him in the chest. Frowning, he reads the label; some kind of grain product he’s never heard of. He puts it aside on a nearby table, looking up to see Forde scrutinizing him. 

“You look different, Sir. New haircut? Or, no, did you lose weight?”

“In a sense.” 

Ephraim snorts as he continues to make a mess.

“Oh? Rations not sitting well with you?

“I had my arm cut off.”

Forde blinks comically, glancing from one of Seth’s shoulders to the other, a look of mild surprise on his face. “Oh! So you did… And yet you’re still here?”

“Here?” Seth asks as Forde tosses him another packet, slower this time.

“Fighting.”

Seth frowns. “Of course I’m fighting. I’m not  _ dead _ .”

“Damn… I respect your resilience,” Forde nods to himself. “If I got my painting hand cut off, I’d retire the first opportunity I got.”

“I’m sure that knowledge is very comforting to Prince Ephraim,” Seth says, a hint of warning in his voice. Forde was never one for going ‘above and beyond’, but admitting to cowardice in front of his liege so easily…

“Honestly, I don’t blame him. I’m pretty surprised Eirika didn’t force you to stay in Frelia.” The prince says, mouth full of stale bread, a piece of which he hands to Seth.

“She asked… but no. I can’t afford to rest now, not when there’s still so much to do.”

“Well, I have no problem with you being here, as long as you don’t get yourself killed. Eirika would be pissed.” Ephraim mumbles into his barely-meal. 


	3. circō

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FATHER I CRAVE VIOLENCE

Eirika requests that Seth follow her to Rausten, and the knight doesn’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed. One one hand, she clearly still values his presence, and he certainly prefers to stay close by in order to fulfill his duties. On the other hand, he can’t help but feel like a child being kept under a close watch. A role in Ephraim’s forces would have allowed Seth to take to the front lines again; the prince expected and valued a measure of recklessness from his troops. Staying with the princess would mean more back-lines duties, at least for now. 

He follows her through the Carcino trade center, trailing behind her as she moves from stall to stall, occasionally spinning around to show him trinkets that are uncommon in Renais. Watching her fawn over a set of fine silk hair ribbons is a poor distraction from the pins and needles that creep up the ghost of his missing hand. He grits his teeth under the hood of his cloak and tries not to look too uncomfortable whenever she turns to him. 

“What do you think of this one?”

She’s caught him off guard. He breaks his staring contest with the horizon to look at the ribbon in her hands; it’s a cheap thing, but the deep color is nice.

“It’s lovely, Pr- Erina.” He bites his tongue as he almost blows their cover, and Eirika shoots him a bemused look as she turns back to the shopkeep, handing over the coin she owes. She pockets the ribbon, and Seth follows her as she continues her walk through the market. 

It’s a lively place, much more so than the market street in the capital city, despite it’s smaller size. The constant yelling doesn’t seem to bother Eirika much, despite the headache it’s giving her companion. They pass a few of their allies as they roam, exchanging slight nods as they go. 

Locking down a sailing vessel had been a bust; all the captains too wary of a supposed “ghost ship” that was reported to be stalking the seas. Seth put little faith in fairytales, but given the recent rise in monster attacks, he gave them perhaps more sympathy than they deserved. The group agreed to stay in Carcino for the night, masquerading as a mercenary company in order to avoid attention. Seth frowns as he continues to follow Eirika through the streets. The rest of the army looks a bit too put together to be convincing, but his armor and injury certainly make _him_ look the part of a common sellsword.

Eirika sidesteps an oncoming cart and turns down a quieter street. There aren’t as many stalls here, and most of them are full of tools and utilities rather than knick-knacks. She looks up at the signs on the storefronts curiously as she wanders.

“Oh! There it is,” she remarks with a clap before continuing forward. She stops in front of the blacksmith, waiting for Seth to catch up. “My sword could use a little care… I think I bent it when fighting a tarvos.”

“Very well,” Seth opens the door for her, and she beams at him as she walks into the loud room beyond. 

It’s stuffy inside, especially once the door is closed. Smoke gathers in clouds around the lamps and windows, and the muffled sounds of hammers can be heard from the door behind the counter. There seems to be no one around at the moment, so Eirika begins to wander, looking at the soot-stained tapestries hung on the walls with mild interest. A young man pokes his head out of the back room, shouting over the sounds of hard work.

“I’ll be with you in a minute! Please make yourselves comfortable!”

Eirika gives him a thumbs-up and a nod as he disappears again. She sits in one of the worn chairs, unhooking her belt and placing her sword in her lap. She pauses before unsheathing it, looking to Seth before standing up again. 

“You know, I think I’d like to get my armor fixed up a bit as well before we go… hold this for me, would you?”

She hands him the rapier before reaching over her shoulder to unlatch one of her pauldrons. What was once a treasured piece of royal armor is now dented and scratched; it’s original gold color scuffed into a mottled bronze. She turns it over in her hands, dismayed as she traces one of the many large divots in its surface.

“I feel terribly about the way I’ve treated this thing… You’d think I took a running dive off the side of a mountain…” she mumbles, placing the first pauldron on the chair as she starts on the second. She glances at Seth as she stacks the two shoulder pieces inside of her breastplate, motioning for her sword. 

“Thank you,” she says as she places the whole lot on the counter before turning around and leaning on the raised surface. “You should probably get your supplies fixed up too, you know.”

“Nothing of mine has broken yet, Milady.” There’s no one here but them. Seth doesn’t bother with false names. Eirika smiles and crosses her arms. 

“I mean your armor, obviously. It still doesn’t fit you correctly, right? If you’re to resume your old duties soon, it would be smart to at least be wearing something that actually works,” she smirks, and Seth raises an eyebrow at her.

“Resume duties? I don’t remember going on vacation.”

Eirika rolls her eyes, taking a step forward, motioning for him to hold out his hand. The knight hesitates before complying, and she begins to carefully undo the straps of his gauntlet.

“Don’t play a fool… I mean that… Well…” She sighs as she takes the gauntlet in her hands, running her hand over the places where black paint has worn away, revealing the silver color hidden underneath. “Well, to be frank, you know your limits better than I do… and if you say that you’re ready to fight on the front lines again, then I believe you. Please forgive me for my cautiousness… I just…”

Seth reaches behind his back to unbuckle the rest of his armor, avoiding Eirika’s gaze. He glances at her as she trails off, heart sinking as he realizes that her face is fraught with worry. 

It’s not that he doesn’t understand her reasoning. She doesn’t want to lose anyone else, and the death of the king still weighs heavily on her mind. Her favoritism of her retainer is understandable, even if Seth doesn’t approve.

“May I see it?” Her voice is softer now, and it plays with Seth’s nerves in an ugly way. 

“See what, Milady?” He brushes her off as he walks past her, taking the abandoned chair and bending down to undo his sabatons.

“Your injury. I… I have yet to see it.”

“There is no need for that. You don’t need to worry. It’s fully healed, and I’ve gotten used to fighting with my other hand.”

“You’re lying.” 

He looks up at her, and is greeted with disappointed scrutiny. She doesn’t give him time to rebut her claims as she leans back against the counter. “You keep making faces whenever you think I’m not looking. Whenever you bump into something, or someone put their hand on your shoulder, you look ill. I know it’s not my imagination.”

He leans back, meeting her eye to eye. “If you believe that I’m still injured, then why were you saying that I would be able to… resume my duties?”

“Well,” she says, blinking away her serious expression, “you’ve been irritated and stressed ever since we started marching. Would I be wrong in saying that it’s partially because you’re worried?”

“...No. You would not be wrong.”

“Well, stress is bad for morale. Common sense aside then, I’d like you to rejoin me at the front from now on. So long as you promise not to overextend yourself. To be honest, I don’t know what I would do if you were to-”

Eirika is cut off by the sound of a door opening, the drone of hammers increasing in volume as the young blacksmith reappears. 

“Sorry for the wait, can I help you folks?”

Eirika turns away from her knight, a smile quickly plastered onto her face.

\---

_Saranna’s in his office. He knows it before he even opens the door. She beams up at him when he enters, not budging from her perch on the top of his desk._

_“Ah, just the person I was hoping to see!”_

_“Who else were you expecting? This is my office.”_

_Saranna waives her hand, shrugging off his question as she gestures to the chair pulled up to the desk._

_Seth raises his eyebrows, but humors her._

_In a hand that was empty a mere second before, the mage knight holds a clay cup. She gives it to Seth, and when he brings it to his face to examine it, the foul smell makes him gag._

_“Where did you find this..?”_

_Saranna takes a drink from her own cup, a tall wine glass filled to the brim with opaque, red liquid. It stains her mouth like lipstick and dribbles down her chin as she pulls the drink away from her face. She slides off his desk, her long scarf smacking Seth in the face as she moves to sit in the chair on the other side, facing her brother._

_“Oh, just a little thing I conjured up! We are celebrating, of course.”_

_Seth wants to put the cup on the desk, but his hand refuses to move. His fingers remain tightly clenched around the ceramic, and he can feel that the drink inside has become warm._

_“What are we celebrating?”_

_Saranna laughs. “Well, your promotion, of course! This chair is uncomfortable, by the way. You should steal a chair from somewhere else before moving your stuff in here.”_

_Moving..? Wasn’t this… No… Why had he assumed that this was his office..? The shelves were bare and dusty, and though Seth could have sworn there were piles of paper in the corner, the room was decidedly clear of clutter. Saranna watches him as he glances around in confusion, eyes flicking from his face to the cup over the rim of her own glass._

_“You should drink that before it gets cold, you know…”_

_He considers the cup again. There’s steam rising from it now, and it's burning the palm of his hand as it gets warmer and warmer. Again, he tries to drop it, only for his hand to not respond. He grips the armrest of the wooden chair with his other as the feeling of worry manifests somewhere deep in his mind. Before he can voice his concerns, the cup is at his mouth, and the drink inside burns his mouth._

_It tastes terrible. Like melted metal, perhaps iron._

_He finally drops the cup, and the red liquid splatters all over the wooden floor as he leans over, spitting up what can only be someone else’s blood._

_From the other side of the desk, Saranna shrugs before taking another long drink from her glass._

\---

Seth spends the morning before their departure irritated and on edge. Waking with an overwhelming feeling of foreboding did very little to assure him that everything would go to plan, and the mercenaries’ attack only solidified his sour mood. 

He shoves the opposing sellsword roughly, and the injured man tips over like a lame horse. Seth grabs him by the collar of his coat, nearly choking the poor fool as he tightens his grip and shoves him against a nearby house’s wall. 

“Seth-” Eirika warns next to him, but trails off, raising her hands and allowing him to begin the interrogation.

“P-please!” The mercenary pulls on Seth’s hand, too weak to shove him off. “I don’t want to fight anymore! We- we were just doing a job! Nothing personal, I promise!”

“Who hired you?” Seth loosens his hold slightly, just enough that the man can get a breath in without vomiting. The mercenary sneers.

“I may be nothing but a hired blade, but I have my honor… I won’t say a word.”

Seth sighs. Perhaps, had he been in a better mood, he might have held some level of respect for this man and his ‘code of honor’. But Seth was not in a good mood. 

“Very well. I admire your professionalism, but I’m afraid we have no use for you,” he says, looking over his shoulder at Eirika. “Milady, perhaps you would lend me your blade for a moment?”

Eirika squawks and looks at him in disbelief, but the mercenary isn’t paying attention to her clear hesitation.

“No, wait! I’ll talk,” he pants. “It was Carcino! Pablo of Carcino! The Council of Elders, you know?”

“Councilman Pablo?” Seth hisses at the man as Eirika gasps behind him. 

“But… Carcino and Frelia are allies! Why would they target me?” The princess steps closer, getting a closer look at their prisoner. 

“How should I know!” The mercenary sputters, “Could be that they d-decided that Grado’s gonna win! They’ll wanna be on the winning side, right? Some of the others opposed Pablo, but I heard he had them silenced real quick!” He gags as Seth tightens his grip a fraction. “I s-swear, I don’t know anything else!”

“That’s enough, Seth… Let him go,” Eirika orders, and the sellsword drops like a stone as his clothes are released. He doesn’t need to be told to leave; he stumbles to his feet and dashes back towards the center of town without bothering to pick up his sword. Eirika looks crestfallen as she watches him go, turning slightly to face her knight.

“I can’t believe this… Surely they wouldn’t become our enemies overnight for such reasons…”

Seth shakes his head. “No… We should have seen this coming. Of course the merchant rulers would want to ally themselves with the empire. They are power-hungry, and Grado grows more powerful by the day.”

Fear flickers across Eirika’s face. “Wait! Prince Innes… He passed through Carcino on his way to Jehanna! If Carcino has betrayed us-”

Her voice is drowned out by the whinny of a horse from above. Beside the princess, a pegasus messenger in Frelian armor lands in the middle of the street. The young woman salutes at the Eirika, who approaches. 

“Princess Eirika! I bring dire tidings!” 

“Oh, you’re one of the messengers riding with Prince Innes!” Eirika brings a hand to her mouth. As Seth steps forward to join them, he can see that her face is twisted with worry.

“He is in danger, Princess!” The pegasus knight looks around before leaning down and lowering her voice. “Carcino has betrayed us. Their army has killed half of our men, and now Prince Innes is trapped in a siege with no means of escape, and-”

“Please, no more,” Eirika gasps. “I understand, return to Frelia and deliver your message at once!”

The girl blanches. “But what of the Prince?”

Eirika’s face transforms into a determined expression, eyebrows furrowed and lips drawn into a tight line. 

“Leave Innes to us.”

\---

Seth rides into battle at Eirika’s side later that day, the sunset bathing the fields and forest in an orange glow. Beautiful, but the poor visibility won’t do them any favors. They need to act quickly. 

His horse whinnies as it kicks an approaching mercenary squarely in the jaw. The man is knocked flat and doesn’t move, and the knight doesn’t bother to check for a pulse as he rides on. A flash of turquoise flickers in his peripheral vision, and his horse rears slightly as he yanks the reins and does an about-face. 

Eirika is perched on a nearby low wall, one hand over her eyes to block out the quickly fading sun. The bodies of two archers, necks pierced by a thin blade and left to bleed out, tell Seth that this area has been cleared of sellswords, at least for now. The princess surveys the terrain, nodding slightly as her gaze sweeps over him and back towards the landscape. He doesn’t interrupt her search, knowing full well what she is looking for.

It doesn’t take her long to find it.

Eirika drops her hand with a gasp, pointing towards the horizon. “It’s him! Prince Innes!”

Seth cranes his neck from atop his horse, and indeed in the distance, the form of the prince can be seen dashing through the tall grass toward a distant building. The nearby pegasus knights swoop and dive at him, but he dodges them all, delivering devastating blows of his own in turn. 

“He’s outnumbered…” Seth speaks with trepidation. The odds don’t look good for the Frelian prince and he’s not pleased with the idea of adding Eirika’s life to that gamble. But his opinion is silenced the moment Eirika leaps off the wall, running towards the distant figure with her rapier held aloft. Seth spurs on his horse, catching up to his charge as he too draws his sword. 

It gets messy quickly. 

Eirika is too fast for them; too small a target to reliably hit, especially now that the sun has dipped below the trees and the field is cloaked in shadow. The enemy does not recognize her in these conditions, so they pay her nimble body little mind as she slips between their arrows and spears. They hardly notice as she slides through their ranks and into the building where the foreign prince hides. 

But they do notice Seth. They _all_ notice Seth. 

With a mumbled swear, he sheaths his sword and grabs his lance from the saddle. It’s still a lightweight beginner’s weapon, but the blacksmith was able to sharpen it to such a point that even silver weapons would have trouble shattering it. Or so the shopkeep had said. Whether or not he exaggerated for the sake of his business, Seth is about to find out. 

He’s about to swing at the first myrmidon when an arrow erupts from the front of the woman’s head, blowing her brains open like a watermelon. As her carcass stumbles over its own feet, Seth looks up in bewilderment.

Eirika is a fast talker. Innes trails behind her as she makes her way back over to the rest of the army, accompanied by some unknown faces. They all swing and parry at the swooping pegasus knights, so Seth can only assume that these were the mercenaries that the Frelian prince had hired to keep him safe on this journey. Mentally, Seth judges their abilities given that they had gotten stuck in this position in the first place, but there was some truth in the phrase ‘strength in numbers’, and their meager forces could use all of the numbers that they could get. He rides up to the group, plunging his javelin into the chest of an oncoming soldier as he goes. 

“Seth!” Eirika cries as she enters earshot, slowing to a jog as she approaches. Her companions, including a rough looking swordsman and a strangely weaponless woman in nothing but her smallclothes, follow suit, coming to a stop close by. The woman leans against the side of the nearby building, out of sight of the remaining pegasus knights that continue to circle up ahead. 

“Milady,” he regards her as she stops next to him and reflexively reaches up to give his horse a pat on the nose. The beast snorts at her when she removes her hand and returns her grip to the hilt of her sword. 

“We ride towards the mountains! We must get away from Carcino’s army as soon as possible if we want to reach Jehanna, but the only way around is through a small measure of their forces. We’ll charge their hold in the mountains and head onwards from there,” she says. It’s a simple plan in words, but the Carcino’s outpost is well guarded, as well as surrounded by an innocent village. Seth tells her as much, and the princess nods, deep in thought. “Yes… it will be a difficult climb, and we must be careful to not harm any civilians. But I think this really is our best chance; riding back into Carcino proper would be a death sentence.”

The burly newcomer joins the conversation with a smirk as his under-clothed compatriot comes forward to lean against his shoulder. “The little lady is right. It’s the long way around, but it’s much safer.”

“I don’t disagree. Everyone, keep your guard up.” Innes begins his march, and the rest follow suit. 

The journey up the mountain is a struggle. The sellswords are relentless in their attacks, confidence spurned from their great number. As their count begins to dwindle, the remaining mercenaries fight even harder, determined to earn their pay no matter the cost. Seth frowns as he yanks his lance out of the guts of another priest. Such needless bloodshed… all so that Carcino’s leaders could make a few extra gold. 

Pablo himself doesn’t put up much of a fight, being the coward that he is. The man hisses and skitters away like a rat after taking a glancing blow from Gerik’s blade; retreating back into the village with his remaining men. Eirika orders Franz and Ross to go after them, but the two young soldiers return just a few moments later, empty handed but alive. 

They bolt the doors of the fortress, separating themselves from Carcino, at least for the time being. Before anyone can get too comfortable, Seth approaches the present royalty with a grim expression.

“Princess Eirika, Prince Innes,” he starts, catching their attention. Eirika looks at him with a curious smile, while her companion merely passes him over with a judgemental glance. Perhaps he had interrupted something…

“Seth! How are you?” Eirika seems eager to let him into the conversation, to Innes’s chagrin. It’s none of Seth’s business what goes on between royals, so he doesn’t question it.

“Princess, I just wanted to confirm your plan to head into the mountains at the next opportunity. I know you are intent on finding your brother… but Carcino is clearly more dangerous than anticipated. Perhaps it would be wise for us to go back to Frelia and make a new plan…” He trails off as Eirika’s expression becomes crestfallen. Innes speaks up before Eirika can voice her complaints.

“You are welcome to do as you please, Sir Seth, but I need to get to Jehanna. If I don’t hurry, more nations will fall to Grado’s hunger in no time.”

“Well, splitting up is not the solution here, so I have to agree with Innes,” Eirika says. “We need to get to Rausten, and the only way there by land is to go through Jehanna. But I fear that this is only the beginning of the mercenary attacks…”

The sound of approaching footsteps causes Seth to turn as a young boy joins the conversation. Where he came from, the knight isn’t sure, but Innes doesn’t threaten to behead him on sight, so he must have been a member of Innes’s original traveling party. Why the man chose a literal child to guide him, Seth didn’t know. Then again, he fit right in with Ross and Franz…

“You need a safe way to Jehanna, right?” The boy pipes up. The only acknowledgment of the crack in his voice is a single raised eyebrow from Innes. “I know a way over the mountains. I can guide you, if you like.”

Seth glances to Eirika, and finds her to be just as surprised about the presence of a child as he is. She speaks hesitantly, “And… who might you be?”

“Ewan!” 

The red haired woman in her undergarments appears at Innes’s side, hands on her hips with a stern expression on her face. The boy, Ewan, looks guilty as the woman grabs his wrist and begins to tug him away, back towards the rest of Innes’s mercenaries. She turns the boy around to face her, pointing a long nailed finger in his face accusingly. For reasons aside from her hair color, Seth can’t help but feel that a body-double of Lalia has appeared in their midst, and a pang of empathy rises in his chest for the young boy. 

“You must not interrupt people when they are talking! You’re too old for this, and you should know better!” She turns to the group, looking apologetic. “I’m so sorry about my brother, let me get him out of your hair…” The boy grumbles as he’s slowly dragged away.

“No, wait, hold on-” Eirika takes a step forward, hand outstretched toward the siblings. “Do you really know a safe way through the mountains?”

“Of course! My teacher lives in a village at the top, Caer Pelyn! I’m sure he’d be willing to lead you through safely, as long as you ask nicely.” Ewan shakes his head for emphasis, bangs falling in his eyes. 

“What’s your teacher’s name?” Eirika walks towards the boy, eyes curious.

“Saleh!”

“Saleh,” Innes drawls, scratching his chin as he contemplates the name, “Yes… I’ve heard that name on the lips of Frelia’s spy network lately. By the accounts of his battles against monsters and fiends, I think he seems like a man we can trust.”

Eirika smiles and turns back to Ewan. “Very well! It would be an honor to have you lead us to him! Say, before we leave, could you introduce me to your company?” She follows the woman and her brother away, leaving Innes and Seth to stand awkwardly in the hall alone. 

“I suppose we shall be seeing more of each other from now on then,” Innes speaks, seeming to be displeased with the idea.

“If you are to be joining us, then yes. Glad to hear that your forces will be combined with ours.” Seth keeps his tone neutral. Getting into arguments with foreign royalty was not a wise decision, even for a General. Besides, it’s not like he was lying. Innes’s mercenaries seemed like a powerful and hardy bunch, and would bolster their fighting power significantly.

“Well, yes- I meant more in the sense that we shall be guarding Eirika together from now on.”

“Oh? Has she asked you to do such a thing?”

“Well, no, but-”

“Perhaps you should leave her alone then. If she needs your help, she can ask.” It wasn’t as though Seth feared for his position. Innes wasn’t under Eirika’s employ, meaning that Seth’s job as a retainer was of no interest to the prince. It was Innes’s _other_ motivations that concerned Seth. He’d seen that look in the eye of many of Eirika’s suitors before.

Seth worries for a moment that he’s crossed a line. To forget his tongue around the prince was foolish, but the other man only gives him a strained smile. “Oh, but I simply must repay my debt to her. It’s unacceptable for me to welcome her help without assisting her in turn.”

“Any attempts to protect the princess will yield no complaints from me.”

“Of course not. She’s as good as immortal as long as she stays behind me.”

Seth looks at Innes curiously. Innes is a tall man, and though Seth looks up at him, he feels as if he’s confronting an overconfident child.

“But Prince Innes, you are an archer… Wouldn’t it be wise for _you_ to remain behind _her_?”

He doesn’t stick around to enjoy Innes’s puzzled expression.

\---

_They sit around the kitchen table in silence, the clink of Clara’s spoon against the side of her mug the only sound shared between them. She looks exhausted as she rubs small circles into Saranna’s shoulder, the girl snuggled against her side. She’s finally stopped crying, but her eyes are rimmed with bruised splotches. Seth guesses that between the seven of them, they’ve gotten perhaps... three hours of sleep total in the last two days._

_Calypso plays absentmindedly with the collar of her dress. It’s one she’s borrowed from their mother; fraying at the edges with garish orange lace at the bottom. Seth makes eye contact with Milena over the table, both of them dressed in the standard black formals afforded to knights upon their promotion from trainees. Calypso had sneered at them when she’d caught sight of their clothes, but he couldn’t judge her too harshly. It was a jealousy strengthened by sorrow._

_Anara shifts in her spot next to the window, crossing her arms tighter as she turns to the table. Seth removes his hand from under his chin as she looks from one tired face to another, expression cast in shadow by her hair._

_“She’s back.”_

_The door opens, and reality melts away as someone nearby begins to sob._

\---

Eirika takes a heaving breath as she takes another step up the mountain. It’s gotten too steep for safe riding, so Seth slows his pace to walk at her side, glancing down once in a while. She’s clearly not used to this kind of climbing, and though Seth wouldn’t admit it, he was starting to feel the strain himself. She wheezes again, and he decides it’s time to speak up. 

“Perhaps we should rest, Milady…” Her response is another breathless sound, so Seth turns to the newest member of their party for assistance. “Is it much farther, Master Saleh?

The man turns to look behind his shoulder, one hand firmly wrapped around the top of his worn hiking stick. “We’re close; perhaps half a day away.”

Eirika coughs.

“Might I request that we stop and rest for a bit?” Seth speaks for her, even as she shoots him a glare. “We are exhausted. We can go no further today.”

Eirika pushes past him, continuing up the mountain. “No, Seth. I’ll be fine… We must not be delayed for my sake…”

On her other side, Innes makes a strained sound of his own. His breaths are shallow, and even Seth has noticed how thin the air is up here. 

“I didn’t realize… we would be climbing so high…” The Prince sneezes into his shirtsleeve at the onset of a particularly strong gust of wind. Not only was it hard to breathe, the air was also quite cold. Seth can see patches of frost starting to crop up on the side of the path leading upwards. In the distance, those patches melded together into a thin but constant layer of snow. A slipping hazard… they would have to be careful. 

As if on cue, Eirika’s shoe squeaks as she steps onto a damp rock, and she squeals as she stumbled to her knees. Seth is quicker than Innes, letting go of his horse’s reins in order to grab her arm before she can smash her skull on the ground. She mumbles a thank you as she clings to him, using him to haul herself back to her feet. He does his best to help her without falling on the slippery terrain himself. She lets him go, and he can’t stop himself from missing the warmth of her hand on his arm as she pulls away. Seth catches himself on that thought and cringes. Surely, it wasn’t _that_ cold up here…

“As I said,” Saleh continues, “the terrain here is rough and you would all do well to be careful.”

“Do people really live up here?” Innes asks.

“Of course. The easy living that you all enjoy down below fosters strife. Up here, we have no need for material wealth, much like the Great Dragon.”

“Great Dragon?”

Eirika’s question is cut off by a loud roar. Heads turn as a massive beast clears the top of a nearby peak, slamming into the ground with it’s great stone claws and screeching at the invaders of its territory. Gasps carry throughout the group as everyone readies their weapons and prepares for a fight.

The monster is not alone.

More gargoyles land on the nearby peaks, and large dog-like animals burst from the underbrush, growling and spitting over the clamor of the army. 

“ _Ambush!_ ” Eirika yells, and Seth charges at the first dog, sword drawn.

It growls at him angrily, but is no match for the bite of sharpened steel as he beheads it in a single sweeping motion. Arrows flying overhead tell him that Innes and Neimi have the gargoyles covered, so he turns around toward a mauthe doog making its way towards Franz with its teeth bared. 

Seth takes a swipe at its side, drawing its attention as he carves a slice of flesh out of it’s leg. It spins around to snap at him, but doesn’t get far as Franz plunges his lance into its spine, paralyzing it. It squirms in the dirt, whimpering like a puppy before Seth puts it out of its misery with a final blow to the head. 

“Up the mountain! There is a temple we can seek refuge in!” Saleh shouts, racing by with his staff raised, stopping next to Colm, who cradles his wrist to his chest with a pained look.

Seth urges Franz onwards towards safety before spinning around, searching for Eirika. This thin air was already disagreeing with her; adding combat to her list of troubles could only end in disaster. He catches sight of her standing behind Innes as he fires silver arrows upwards towards the oncoming foes. Perhaps him protecting her wasn’t such a terrible idea after all. 

“Seth!” She shouts to him as he approaches, and by the time Seth realizes that it’s a shout of fear, not greeting, it’s already too late. 

Talons sink into his side like knives, crushing the plating of his armor and grinding against his ribs. Unable to keep his footing in the icy ground, Seth drops his sword and barely manages to break his fall, sharp rocks pressing into the slats of his gauntlet as he attempts to kick the gargoyle off him. It’s not particularly large, perhaps a foot taller than himself, but it’s heavy, and he can’t quite manage to dislodge it. His arm is pinned under his body, weapon out of reach-

The sound of an incoming arrow races past his face as silver embeds itself in the gargoyle’s heart, knocking it back. The monster crumples with a screech, and Seth’s vision swims as something turquoise manifests above him, blotting out the sun. 

“Seth! Don’t you dare-” Eirika bites her tongue as she looms over him. The knight feels pressure along his side, and only then does he process that though the beast might be dead, it’s claws are still plunged into the metal of his armor. His head rolls, (perhaps to get a better look, perhaps simply because he does not have the strength to keep it steady anymore,) and he catches sight of it; the slick, red punctures hastily filled with foreign matter. It’s a gorey scene, one that would spell death if not taken care of soon.

Someone in white robes comes into view, and Seth loses consciousness as the first talon is painstakingly removed from his guts, not bothering to fight back against the tide of black creeping into his vision. Eirika shrieks somewhere nearby, loud yet distant. 

“Seth!”

\---

_“Seth!”_

_“You killed him!”_

_“I did not! See, he’s moving!”_

_“Then what was that sound?”_

_He blinks up at the sky, or where the sky would be, if there wasn’t a tree in the way. Two surprised faces look down at him from among the leaves, staring at him as he lays splayed on the ground, nerves humming in shock._

_Seth barely processes the question asked by the younger girl, but he knows the answer the second he tries to roll over and get some air back into his lungs. His leg seizes and he chokes, heat welling up behind his eyes before he even truly understands what’s going on._

_“Look what you did! Mom is gonna kill you!” Milena’s voice is shrill as she climbs out of the tree, landing in the grass next to where Seth lays prone._

_“Shut up!” Lalia hisses as she meets them on the ground. “Go get Mom!.”_

_“She’s not home!”_

_“Then go get Clara, stupid!”_

_Milena is too panicked to respond to the insult as she turns tail, running towards the house at full speed. Seth hears the slam of the front door smacking against the wall and the distant shouts of a scared kid demanding help._

_Her shouts aren’t making him feel better, and before he can help it, he’s crying. Lalia creeps closer, apprehensive and maybe a bit guilty. She had pushed him, after all._

_“Hey, uh, don’t freak out… You’re… you’re fine,” she says, tugging nervously on her own hair as she glances towards the door. From this vantage point, Seth isn’t sure whether her fear is on his behalf, or if she’s realizing the amount of trouble she’s going to be in once their parents find out what’s happened here. She’s thirteen, far too old to be pushing her younger siblings out of trees. Idly, the part of Seth that has lived this before remarks that after this, she’ll at least do his chores for a few months._

_Milena reappears with Clara hot on her heels, a staff in hand and an uncharacteristically angry look on her face. “Lalia, what did you DO.”_

_“I didn’t mean to! He was being mean to me so I nudged him a little bit! I barely touched him!”_

_Milena squawks from her hiding place behind Clara’s long skirt, “That’s not true! She pushed him, I saw!”_

_Clara delivers a withering glare before sitting down next to Seth, staff held aloft and ready. There’s a warm feeling in his leg, and the pain subsides from a sharp stabbing to more of a dull, thready pulsing, as if bruised badly instead of broken. Clara puts aside the staff and rolls up the leg of his pants ever so slowly, revealing a layer of dark bruises on his calf and ankle. Milena makes a disgusted noise._

_“Oh my… Well the good news is, you’re not dying,” Clara tells him before turning to Lalia, who has backed up with a guilty look on her face. “Mom is definitely gonna kill you though.”_

_“It’s not my fault!” Lalia shouts. She’s angry, but seems unsure of herself as she quickly comes to terms with her own doom. She looks like she wants to run away, but instead hovers around the scene of the crime as if looking for something to do. Seth shoots her a dirty glare as Clara helps him sit up._

_“Why don’t we get you inside,” she suggests, and Seth nods. His leg doesn’t hurt as badly now, but maybe he’s just remembering it wrong. Maybe, in the back of his mind, he’s remembering pains far worse than this that won’t happen for years to come._

_Clara picks him up with a grunt; He’s a solid two heads shorter than his teenage sister, but she’s got spindly arms more suited to deskwork than heavy lifting. Lalia leads the charge back to the house, opening the door for the group as they make their way inside. Calypso and Anara stand in the doorway to the baby’s room, the former fearful and the latter as blank-faced as ever._

_“Is he dead?”_

_“No!”_

_“Oh.”_

_“Calypso! Don’t sound so disappointed when you say that!” Clara scolds as she drops Seth on the couch. Anara climbs onto the worn cushion next to him, silent but curious. Clara kneels down, rolling Seth’s pant leg back up from where it had slipped. “I’m gonna go get you some ice for this, so try not to move around so much in the meantime, okay?”_

_He nods and wipes his face with his sleeve as she stands, leaving the room to raid the icebox in the basement. The others begin to go back to their own business, and the distant clicks of bedroom doors closing can be heard down the hall. Only Lalia remains, hovering in the doorway like an unwelcome fiend._

_“Are you…” She hesitates, before furrowing her brow and curling her fists into her skirt. “Are you gonna tell Mom that it was me?”_

_Seth glares at her. She glares back._

_“I barely pushed you. You should have held on tighter.”_

_“I WAS holding on.”_

_“Not enough!” She retorts, anger surging again. She pauses before she can deliver another biting insult, choosing to sigh instead, entering the room proper and sitting delicately on the side of the couch that Anara had abandoned. Seth scoots away from her, less for the purpose of actually getting away, and more to make a point._

_“Listen… I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t think you would actually fall.”_

_Seth continues to glare._

_“What if- Hey if I promise to do your chores for a month, will you tell Mom and Dad it was an accident?”_

_“It wasn’t an accident.”_

_“I know, ugh, just- listen. They’re gonna be so mad at me, and I’m really sorry, okay? I promise I will NEVER, for the rest of my LIFE, push anyone out of a tree ever again.”_

_Seth mulls it for an purposefully unnecessary amount of time. The longer the silence drags on, the more antsy Lalia becomes._

_“Come on, please!”_

_“How about,” Seth starts. “You do my chores for the next three months. If you do that, then I’ll say it was my fault.”_

_“Three months!?”_

_“You almost murdered me!”_

_“I did NOT!”_

_“Okay, then I’m gonna tell.”_

_Lalia huffs and crosses her arms, eyebrows furrowed in anger. “You know what? Fine. I’ll do all your chores for three months, okay? But you better keep your word.” She holds out her hand, pinky extended. Seth answers her pact in turn._

_“I promise.”_

\---

It’s quiet, aside from the odd shuffling of fabric or paper from somewhere out of view.

Seth blinks in the dim as he struggles into a sitting position. Someone nearby remarks with a “Oop, he’s up,” as a dark shadow falls over him and a cup of water is pressed into his hand. He accepts it without question as he sits up fully, blinking haze out of his vision.

He’s in a bed, with a wooden frame and a mattress stuffed with straw. The blankets are threadbare and worn, drooping onto the floor as if kicked off. The remains of a fire smoulder in the hearth, providing little heat to the cold room. Dim lantern light streams through the window, reflecting off Natasha’s golden hair as she takes the empty cup back from Seth’s hand and places it on a nearby table.

“How are you feeling?” Her voice is a whisper, and as Seth glances around, he can see why. There are other beds in this small room, all filled with (hopefully sleeping, not dead) bodies. He made eye contact with Moulder, who leaned over one of the patients and gave him a slight smile in greeting.

“I… fine. All things considered, that is.” The knight isn’t lying. The claws in his guts and ribs float to the forefront of his memory, but what should have been a crippling injury was now a barely-felt throb of pain. “Is everyone else alright?”

“Yes, everyone will be fine. Quite a few injured, but nothing lethal or permanent.”

“Good… good…” Seth swings his legs off the side of the bed, reaching for his boots. Natasha doesn’t stop him, but she does tut quietly as he begins to find and gather his things. 

“Oh, I wish you wouldn’t move around so much… You’re healed, but you should still rest, you lost a lot of blood.”

He does feel a bit lightheaded, but that might have just been the altitude. Speaking of which… “Is this Caer Perlyn?”

Natasha nods, taking a seat by the nearby fire and poking some of the dim coals with a metal rod. “Yes, the villagers were kind enough to allow us into their homes for the night to rest and recuperate… We’re in their town meeting hall at the moment. I feel bad converting it into a hospital, but it’s too cold to camp outside. Everyone here would freeze in minutes, even me.”

Seth puts on his coat and cloak. Natasha is right; it _is_ cold in here. He stands up, hovering near the bed, unsure of what to do next. “What time is it?”

“Almost night. Most are settling down to rest right about now; you picked an unfortunate time to wake, General,” Natasha smiles, gesturing to an empty spot on the floor next to her. Seth hesitates before sitting, but the low flames do bite back a little bit of the chill.

“Ah, maybe I will rest again in a short while then…”

They sit in silence for a long while as Natasha pokes at the coals and Seth sifts through his sluggish thoughts. He snaps back to reality when someone hisses nearby. Natasha drops the poker, and it lands with a thud as it rolls across the floor.

“Sister Natasha, are you alright?” Seth asks in an urgent whisper. Natasha cradles her hand, massaging her fingers as her eyes close in distress. The knight looks around for another healer, but Moulder seems to have stepped out at some point, and L’arachel was nowhere to be found.

“I’m fine… I just… My fingers never got much better. From that injury, weeks ago. They still seize up from time to time, and it always catches me off guard… I worry I’ll accidentally drop a sword on my foot one of these days…”

“Is there anything you can do to help it?”

“Ah, well… rest, but I haven’t had the chance since we started our march to Rausten…” Seth frowns as Natasha opens her eyes and gives him a sheepish look. “Oh don’t look at me like that, you just woke up from your first long rest in two weeks mere minutes ago.”

“Perhaps…” He trails off. The light has disappeared from the windows, leaving the warm glow of the coals as the only means of seeing. “Why don’t you take the bed? I can keep watch.”

Natasha chuckles, picking the poker back up. “Unless you’ve been practicing your healing incantations when no one is looking, then I’m afraid that you will be decidedly useless on tonight’s shift.”

“Hm, you’re right, of course.” Seth sighs in defeat. “Still, I wish you would take better care of yourself. See to your own needs first, and worry about all of us later.”

The cleric bites her lip and jabs at a smoldering log, sending sparks up into the chimney. “I could say the same thing to you, you know? You’re reckless; watching you on the battlefield makes me want to tear my hair out with stress… always going off on your own and coming back horribly injured… I wish you would look out for yourself more…”

Something heavy settles in the knight’s gut. Guilt. 

“I’m sorry,” he starts, before biting his tongue. Telling Natasha that he had no choice but to take attacks meant for the crown was not what she wanted to hear. “I didn’t realize I was causing you so much worry. I’ll… I’ll try to be less reckless from now on.”

She smiles at him; a tired, worn expression. The shadows from the fire age her forty years. “I would appreciate that. And just so we’re even, I’ll try to get more rest from now on.” As if on cue, she yawns quietly into the palm of her hand. “...Starting tomorrow, of course. I still have my duties tonight, and I can’t afford to pass them off at this hour.”

“Very well then, it’s a deal,” Seth nods. “Would you mind some company for a little while longer?”

Natasha smiles, reaching over to the abandoned bed to pull the blanket off and wrap herself in it. 

“Of course not.”

\---

The warm winds coming for Jehanna’s great desert sweep over the other side of the mountain, and even from this distance, Seth can see it; that great expanse of sand. It’ll be a week before they reach it, maybe more depending on what surprises await them at the bottom of the canyon. Though, it’s not much of a surprise anymore.

The small forms of men stand out from the tall grass, their arms and armor glinting in the early morning sun. They mill about, not realizing that their supposed prey was nearly upon them. Not that the element of surprise would do anything for Eirika’s army at the moment. There were simply too many mercenaries to deal with, and Seth guessed that there was an even greater amount hidden somewhere just out of sight. They would have to plan carefully in order to avoid casualties. 

The sound of boots scuffing against stone turns his attention from the enemy horde. Eirika leans heavily on the rock next to him, following his gaze to the canyon.

“My… there certainly are a lot of them.”

“Yes, Milady.”

“We’ll have to be careful… but I think that as long as they are not filling out their ranks with the undead, we should be fine. Our men are more trained than theirs.”

“Undead?” Seth looks at her curiously, and she grimaces.

“Surely you’ve thought of the possibility, haven’t you? Carcino could be trading for Grado’s dark arts, if they’ve truly taken their side.”

Seth hums. “I suppose. Given the way Counselor Pablo has been acting towards his former allies, I can only assume that he puts a price even on the remains of his former countrymen.” Eirika makes a disgusted noise. “Ah, sorry Milady. That was a bit dark.”

“No, you’re completely right. It’s just… so vile that anyone would do such a thing. To use the bodies of the dead in such a way… it’s reprehensible. Inexcusable.”

“Hopefully your brother is well on his way to finding the source of such magic as we speak.” As far as Seth knew, Ephraim was alive and well, busying himself by tearing through Grado’s defenses with only a small group of men. 

“Oh yes, I’m sure he’s fine. Still, with all that’s going on, I can’t help but worry… but at the same time, I wish that I had his strength. Then all of these battles would be so much easier…”

Seth looks down at her. The princess’s brow is furrowed in thought as she stares into the distance with glazed, daydreaming eyes. “I wouldn’t be so hard on yourself, Milady. Your sword arm has improved quite a bit since we started out.”

“Thank you,” she says, blinking back to reality with a small shake of the head. “I know that Ephraim would scold me if he knew I was slacking off… but I’m still nowhere near as strong as either of you.”

“I don’t know about that, Princess. You have a bit of an advantage over me now,” Seth says, patting the empty shirtsleeve pinned under his cape. The stump still feels strange to touch, but it doesn’t need bandages anymore as barely closed wounds finally gave way to lumpy scar tissue. It was ugly, but at least it didn’t hurt regularly. Eirika frowns as she levels her gaze at his shoulder, and the silence becomes uncomfortable.

“Perhaps… if I had been stronger…” Eirika trails off, and Seth dreads what the end of that sentence might have been. Before he can speak, the Princess steels her expression and moves a hand to the sword at her side. “Seth, after this next battle, once everyone is camped for the night… would you spar with me? I’d like to know more of the sword techniques used by the Knights of Renais. I know I’ve come a long way, but I want to get even stronger. I want to be an even greater help to you on the battlefield.”

Seth’s heart sinks. “Princess Eirika… don’t you think you should stay away from the front lines? You are of royal blood… and your life is valuable.”

“And yours isn’t?”

“...It is, but these are dangerous times. Sometimes, sacrifices have to be made. From now on, please… try to leave most of the fighting to your knights and soldiers. We are here for a reason, after all.”

Eirika shakes her head. “No. I cannot stand idly by as people risk their lives for me. It would be irresponsible for I, as a ruler, to rely on you always.”

“Why? Is that not my job?” Seth asks.

“It is, but how can you expect me to protect myself in the times when you are injured? When you’re not there to defend me, am I supposed to sit there like a child, waiting to be rescued? No. I must learn to protect myself.” She looks up at him defiantly, fire burning behind her eyes. “So please, continue to observe as I practice.”

Seth sighs, pushing away from the rock and walking towards camp as the Princess’s eyes bore into the back of his cloak.

\---

“Sir!”

The pegasus knight, a young woman with wild blond hair and a chipped front tooth, salutes as he approaches. He manages a half-hearted gesture back, wiping his face of mercenary blood as he goes. Pablo’s hired men were no match for the army, but the early assessments had been right; by the gods, there had been a lot of them. 

“What is your report?” Seth asks the girl as her pegasus eyes him curiously, probably smelling the blood on his armor. 

“Jehanna’s palace is under attack by Grado forces as we speak. It seems as if they have surrendered.”

Seth hisses under his breath. To come so far, only to be cut off by the enemy now… “How fairs Queen Ismaire?”

“I’m not sure Sir. We haven’t seen hide nor tail of her or any of her guard since the battle began. Perhaps it is safe to say that if they had killed her, they would be parading it already?”

“It’s possible, but we must prepare for the worst-”

“Another thing Sir!” The girl interrupts. Seth raises an eyebrow at her. “Grado’s army is confirmed to be led by Prince Lyon himself. He wields powerful black magic at his fingertips, and may pose a threat to our army if we are unprepared.”

“Prince Lyon…” 

Eirika was not going to be happy about this.


	4. exsurgō

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> valter death scene is very important to me. cathartic, even.

As Seth watches Queen Ismaire die, he can’t help but feel a displaced sense of gut-wrenching failure. It’s not until they are outside, watching the palace burn, that he understands why. 

Of course, the loss of a human life, especially an innocent one, is enough to make even the most hardened soldier pause, but aside from that… He’d seen the mad look in Carlyle’s eyes as Eirika struck him down. A man possessed by desire. A desire that went past a retainers duty to protect their lord with their life. Seth tastes bile as he steps forward to survey the landscape. Now was not the time to be thinking about such things. 

The pegasus messenger from before the battle passes overhead, and he flags her down with ease as everyone else stops to catch their breath. Her horse doesn’t even bother landing as she shouts her news to the nearby crowd.

“Grado reinforcements to the west and south! Two armies, a hundred men strong each!” She yells before taking to higher altitudes once again, circling the desert out of range of bows and ballistae to continue her observation. Seth swears quietly under his breath, stifling his words as Eirika walks to his side, still panting slightly from their quick escape. He takes a step back, partially out of surprise, and partially because-

“So, we’ll have to split our forces then?” Eirika asks, sword already ready.

“I’m unsure of how wise that might be, Princess. We may have more luck if we all stick together and try to break through their lines at a single point. Even one of their generals may be too much to handle, but two armies… not to mention the exhaustion of our troops…” The situation was quickly turning dire, and Seth gives Eirika a lot of credit for not panicking like she would have done many weeks ago. 

Innes takes the second of silence between them to sidle up to Eirika’s left side, observing their future battlefield with a hand on his hip and a calculating eye on the horizon. “It’s not like we can run back into the castle and prepare for a siege,” he starts, only to be interrupted by the thundering crack of a massive wooden beam finally giving out behind them. The ceiling of the castle collapses once and for all, billowing sand and ash in all directions as the remains continue to flicker with heat and light. “I think we should retreat. We need to win ourselves enough time to think of a plan, before we all get murdered.” 

The archer mulls over a thought as if sampling a fine wine; taking his time and nodding to himself as he goes. He continues, looking from Eirika to Seth and then back again, searching their faces for their opinions. “Curious, isn’t it? To send two armies, two  _ Generals _ , to a country that you’ve already crushed… Makes me wonder what sort of a stir Ephraim has caused in their Capital.”

A stifled cry sounds from behind them. Innes looks back over his shoulder, to where Tethys sits in the sand as Saleh bandages her crumpled leg. Her makeup is running, and even from this distance, Seth can see that Gerik has her hand in a death grip as he runs his shaking fingers through her hair. 

“It’s alright, Prince Innes… please. Go to them.” Eirika says softly. The prince hesitates, looking at her curiously before ducking his head and excusing himself. Eirika hums to herself softly as they watch him go. “He might act high and mighty… but he does care about the others. He cares a lot… I’m glad he’s finally starting to show it… at least in a way that doesn’t involve pointless competition for competition’s sake.”

She falls silent and turns her gaze toward the horizon again, and Seth follows suit. It won’t be long now before the armies catch up to them, but they do have a short bit of time before the jaws of death bare down on them once again. It’s only when the Princess starts to sway on her feet that Seth becomes concerned.

“Princess Eirika? Are you well?” She doesn’t respond, so Seth sticks the blade of his spear in the ground and waives his hand in front of her face. She starts, staring in surprise as it passes in and out of her vision. Seth calls to her again, hoping to ground her attention to the situation at hand. “Princess Eirika.”

“Oh! Seth?” She looks to him questioningly as he withdraws his arm from her personal space.

“Princess, are you sure that you don’t want to rest? If we continue like this, you’ll-”

She shakes her head, silencing him. “No. No, it’s alright. We’re all suffering… We’re still completely surrounded by Grado’s armies… We may all die at any moment… I can’t lose focus now.”

Seth opens his mouth, maybe to agree, maybe to argue, but is interrupted by a horrible sound before he can speak his unmade mind. It’s a familiar sound, one that’s visited him in nightmares for weeks. Judging by the look on Eirika’s face, she knows it as well as he does.

The far off scream of a wyvern, and a big one at that. 

Eirika turns from Seth, searching the desert for the source of the sound. A shadow races overhead, small at this distance. They turn their gazes to the sky to see a great blue and grey beast dive overhead, the remains of the messenger’s pegasus dangling from it’s claws. It drops it’s cargo as it flies, and Eirika shouts for everyone to “Get back!” as the corpse hits the ground with a thud, rider nowhere to be found.

“Shit…” Innes reappears at Seth’s side, eyes bulging as he stares at the pegasus’s bent legs and limp jaw. Eirika ignores him, instead turning to her knight with a wide-eyed but unplaceable expression.

“He’s here.” She whispers, as if afraid the beast in question might hear her and strike her down from the heavens. 

“ _ Valter. _ ”

\---

The Moonstone does not parade around the battlefield for long. His mount takes refuge inside the burned out ruin of an old fort to the south; hissing at any enemy soldier that dares to approach its claim. 

“Franz, I want you to distract the mercenaries that travel with him. You need only lead them north; Vanessa and Amelia can take care of it from there.” Eirika says from her crouched position behind the massive remains of a long dead animal. “Are you a fast runner?”

“Uh, reasonably fast, Princess,” the young knight nods.

“Then go on foot. Your horse will only get bogged down by the sand. When the pegasi start swooping, we will take that as the symbol to charge Valter while he remains undefended.”

“Should I go now?”

“Um,” Eirika pokes her head out from behind their cover before retreating to face the two knights. “Yes, I’d say now is a good time. Stay close to the ruins so that they don’t catch sight of you early.”

Franz nods and darts across the sand, sneaking behind the burned out husk of a house without catching the eye of the enemy. Eirika turns to Seth with her eyebrows raised. “If this all goes down without a hitch, I request that you promote that boy as soon as possible. He’s earned it.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Seth responds, watching as the green speck reappears on the other side of a different ruin much farther away. Franz was almost in position.

“Alright, let’s get going. We need to be closer for this to work.” Eirika says, slinking out from behind the bones and following Franz’s trail. Seth jogs behind her; horse left on solid ground back near the remains of the palace. 

Their plan is simple. Seth will distract the General while Eirika sneaks up on him from behind to strike the final blow while he is distracted. Originally their roles were to be switched, but the risk of using Eirika as a decoy was simply too high. She had taken less convincing than he thought she would since the honor of killing her tormentor was a high one; one that would fall to her, if everything went to plan. The wyrmslayer in her hand was a wicked looking thing; a sharp contrast to the sleek and royal rapier that the Princess usually preferred. 

A flash of white appears out of the corner of Seth’s eye. The pegasi take turns diving towards the ground at unseen foes, which meant that Franz had done his job well. It was time to go. 

Eirika whispers “Stay safe!” as he creeps away from her, coming to stand alone behind a large outcropping of rock just out of view of the Moonstone’s beastly mount. Its talons are embedded in the side of the fortress; pebbles falling to the ground as it clutches at the decaying stonework. He needs to force the dragon to descend from its perch so that Eirika can reach its rider, and the best way of doing that is-

He steps out of the shadows. After checking that the mercenaries have indeed been cleared out, he walks out into the open, where he knows that Valter can see him.

It doesn’t take the other man long.

“Another brave fool!” the Moonstone shouts in a voice like nails on a chalkboard. “And you approach alone? Nevermind the brave part, you are just a fool.” Seth grits his teeth as he steps forward, just out of range of the wyvern’s reach. Its serpentine neck tensed and coiled, preparing to strike the moment Seth got too close. Valter watches him walk the perimeter with scrutiny. “What? Afraid of my pet, are you? Don’t be so hesitant; Legna doesn’t bite!”

The lizard bares its fangs in disagreement. They are already slick with blood; human or pegasus, Seth doesn’t want to find out. Valter laughs as he pats the beast’s neck from his position on the saddle. “Well, he doesn’t bite unless I tell him to.”

Seth continues to hover, just out of reach. Valter’s sick smile twitches.

“Too scared to come closer? Perhaps you’re smarter than you look, knight,” He starts, playing idly with the lance in his hands. It was the same one he had carried on that day; a gnarled purple monstrosity that glowed subtly in the hazy air. The phantom pain in Seth’s arm flares again; yet another reminder that making even the smallest mistake could mean death not only for him, but for Eirika as well. 

Valter speaks up again after realizing that Seth would not be responding to his taunts. His eyes squint down at the knight, searching for something. “Say, have we done this before? I remember you.”

“It’s possible,” Seth responds. Valter continues to study him before something clicks in the madman’s head; his smile widening a disturbing fraction.

“Oh! You’re that knight from the castle, the one that _ stole _ my prey from me… I must say, I’m impressed! You look awfully alive for someone that should have keeled over weeks ago… or did you throw away my gift?” Valter’s eyes flick to the sword in Seth’s left hand before glancing to the paladin’s other side. The Moonstone guffaws. “You  _ did _ get rid of my gift! Smart man… I must admit, my feelings are hurt!”

Seth grits his teeth and refuses to respond.

“Tell me, knight, if you are here, then where is the lovely princess? I’ve missed her… She’s somewhere on this battlefield, isn’t she? Shall we look for her?”

“She retreated to safety days ago. I’m afraid you’re too late,” Seth lies.

Valter sneers. 

“I don’t believe you.”

The wyvern lets go of the wall, barreling towards the ground with a shriek. Seth rolls out of the way as a sharp fangs slice through the air where his face had been mere milliseconds before. 

Valter laughs again, deranged. “Yes! Run, little man! If I cannot have her body, I will at least have  _ your head _ !”

The lizard strikes again, and Seth parries teeth with his blade, slicing at its gums and cutting its jaw down to the bone. The mount rears as blood pours out from between its fangs. Another dodge and parry sees its tongue cleaved from its mouth as Seth turns his attention entirely to the dragon. The cursed lance was not something meant to be thrown from what he could tell, which meant that as long as he battled the Wyvern, Valter himself would be out of reach. As Seth backs up, the dragon crawls forward on its belly, gurgling as it sputters up great clumps of already congealing blood. 

He needed to finish this quickly; they were almost in position for Eirika to launch her own attack.

Valter laughs as Seth sidesteps a close call, the end of his coat catching and ripping on the monster’s teeth.

Valter stops laughing when he sees the knight’s silver sword sticking out of the side of the wyvern’s head, slick with blood and grey matter. 

Legna lets out one last frantic cry; unfurling its wings in an attempt to escape, before Seth yanks his blade out of the creature’s skull. Its purple eyes roll backwards into its head as it crumples, jostling it’s rider as it falls.

“ _ You wretch! I’ll peel you, skin from bone! _ ” Valter yells, hunched forward over his weapon as he frees himself from the now useless saddle. He slides down the dead dragon’s limp wing, landing in the red sand heavily as he bares his teeth at his opponent. 

_ The odds are not excellent, _ Seth thinks to himself. Valter has a lot of reach with his lance, not to mention even a glancing blow will have disastrous consequences… But if he can do this, Eirika’s chances would be boosted astronomically. That would be worth it, even if it meant his death...

Seth almost lunges towards the man to start his attack, but then he sees it. That flash of blue that meant that their plan hadn’t totally fallen apart at the seams yet. 

Valter yells as Eirika’s sword slashes at the back of his neck. It’s not a deep enough wound to be lethal, but he can see the cut turning red and runny as the general spins around, seething. Eirika dives under Valter’s lance, twisting around as she comes shoulder to shoulder with her knight. She gives him a quick nod of recognition as he takes her sword and hands over his own; Silverbrand, a much sharper weapon. Suitable for killing men rather than dragons. 

“There you are, little bird!” Valter snarls, stalking forward as Eirika levels her blade. “You remember me, don’t you? I, the one who will master you?”

“You will do no such thing!” Eirika growls back. It’s strange to see her so unhinged; her usual proper posture and tone lowering to something more on her opponent’s level. Two animals, snarling at each other from across the cage. Seth pushes that thought out of mind as he raises his blade, prepared to assist the princess at a moment’s notice. 

Valter laughs.

“Yes!  _ Resist! _ It’s much more fun that way… Come, Eirika! _ I would like to tame you! _ ”

She darts forward, slashing upwards as she goes. Her attack misses Valter, but allows her to dodge his strike with ease as she twists around his lance and into the open air at his side. He’s a fast fighter, but so is she; her blade knocking aside his own with a small amount of force thanks to her quick hand. He jabs at her with the butt of his weapon, and it plinks off her armor as she hops back. Seth hisses, beginning to approach the wyvern lord from behind. He had no doubts that the weapon was cursed on both ends; even a poke from the fair side could be lethal. 

He makes eye contact with the princess over Valter’s wild mane of hair, giving her a sharp nod as he jabs his leg out, kicking the Moonstone hard in the back of the knee. Valter stumbles, and as he trips, one of the notches on the wyrmslayer catches on the man’s sabaton, undoing the straps and revealing an opening. The knight takes it, plunging the sword into the other man’s heel. 

Valter falls to his knees before Eirika, dropping his lance as his hands hit the sand. He roars and whips his head around as Seth kicks away the blade, but it’s too late; the paladin has already grabbed him by the hair, forcing his head forward. 

Valter stares up at the Princess. 

Eirika stares down at the beast. 

She doesn’t bother with words. With closed eyes, she raises her sword and brings it down on their prisoner with lethal force, forcing the sharp edge through the man’s skull as if chopping a particularly argumentative slab of ration meat. Blood bubbles and oozes out of the space between Valter’s eyes, and he dies with a gurgle, final threats left unsaid on his foul tongue. Seth lets go of his greasy hair, and the corpse of one of Grado’s strongest generals lands face-first in the sand, unmoving.

Eirika lets out a thready gasp, finally processing what she had just done.

It was over.

Valter was dead.

She lets go of the sword, still embedded in Valter’s skull. With another, deeper gasp, she steps back, walking to where Seth stands over the body, breathing heavily. 

“I… I…” She stammers, eyes locked with the corpse’s.

“You did it, Milady,” Seth answers as his heart continues to race. She finally tears her gaze away from the body to look at her knight, and her eyes are filled with an unnatural terror, the likes of which Seth has not seen since they fled Renais. “Are you… are you hurt, Princess?”

She shakes her head, and draws closer. Seth gives her credit; where his hand shakes from stress and strain, hers do not, even as she wraps her arms around his middle and buries her face in his side.

“Princess? Are you alright?” He leans down, trying to get a better look at her face. A low groan is her only response. He reaches for her hand in an attempt to pry her off and get a better look at whatever was wrong, but she responds by tightening her grip.

“Don’t,” Comes a muffled voice from beneath her hair. “I just… I just need a moment… I just need…” She sniffles a bit, and Seth stops pulling at her fingers. 

“Alright… Though, perhaps it might be a good idea to not rest out in the open, Milady?”

She nods, reluctantly pulling away. “Yes, you’re right… I’m sorry, Seth. I just needed…” She trails off as she takes another look at the corpse.

“Of course. I understand…” Seth responds awkwardly. He nudges Eirika in the direction of the ruins only a few feet away, and she begins her slow walk inside, rubbing her eyes as she goes. Seth makes sure she’s out of sight before removing his sword from Valter’s skull. He begins to follow Eirika before he catches sight of something in the sand

Something purple.

The cursed lance fills him with a sense of foreboding; though it lays inert on the ground, it was still dangerous. Seth glances around to find that there’s no one nearby. He doesn’t dare pick up the weapon, but he does step on it, cracking the shaft in two. He kicks its remains into a divot in a nearby sandbank and hastily covers it until it’s completely buried. Not even the purple glow can be seen, and Seth turns around, satisfied. 

That should prevent anyone else from using it, at least for a while. The nearby towns were in ruins; after this battle, this area would go back to being abandoned. That would give the desert time to bury the lance further… hopefully deep enough that it wouldn’t be found, at least within Seth’s lifetime. 

He makes his way back to the fortress, where Eirika’s head peeks out from the doorway.

“You got rid of it… good idea.”

“Of course, Milady.”

\---

_ He watches them drag her away, and he feels gnawing sorrow scratching against his ribs, threatening to tear him apart from the inside out. As long as he follows their instructions, no harm shall come to her, or so they say. But can he trust them? They’ve lied once. They have no reason not to lie again. _

_ He stands before the throne, waiting for the enemy to breach his defenses. The castle is well fortified. It will not be easy- _

_ But then the world shifts and a blade punctures through his clothes with ease. He comes face to face with her; a woman he knows that he knows, but cannot place in the moment. She slashes through his gut with a flick of her wrist, and he stumbles backwards, guts spilling onto the gilded golden throne of Jehanna. _

_ He speaks now, in a voice that is not his own, gasping for breath as something pulls him from beyond; perhaps wakefulness, perhaps death.  _

_ “Queen Ismaire… I’m-” _

\---

Seth wakes in a cold sweat, despite the night’s warm temperature. He stumbles from his bedroll in a panic, coming to a stop in the middle of the tent, spinning around in confusion. Where was he? 

Reality comes back in bits and pieces as his heart slowly stops trying to escape out of his mouth. They were far from Jehanna; back on the road to the capital. Ephraim’s return meant bolstered morale for everyone, and after a small amount of arguing, it was decided that circling back towards Renais to recapture the castle was the best idea. Where it had taken weeks to get to Jehanna, the ride home would take mere days now that the opposition was mostly cleared out. It was only the castle itself that posed a threat. 

Seth combs through his hair with nervous fingers. Now that he was awake, he recognized the woman who had gutted him in his dream. But no… Eirika would never-

He grabs his shoes and his sword before leaving his tent. It’s early morning, or perhaps very late at night. There seems to be no one around aside from the odd guard posted at the edges of camp, and they all ignore him as he makes his way to the haphazardly set up training grounds. They don’t recognize him in this darkness, and if he were in a more grounded space of mind, he would berate them for not paying closer attention to who was wandering in and out of camp. 

The patch of dirt that served as the camp’s sparring area is empty, probably due to the late (early?) hour. It feels good to swing his sword around, not really caring about form when there was no one around to watch; just moving around was already clearing the dream from his head. 

“You’re pretty good with that sword there.”

Seth spins around, searching the darkness for the source of the voice. It doesn’t take him long to find it. Someone else had wandered into the sparring ring, with their own sword at their belt and a hand on their other hip. Whoever it was, if they were an enemy, they probably wouldn’t have spoken up first, so Seth lowers his blade. 

“Er… Thank you, I suppose.”

The person steps out of the shadows and into the moonlight proper, and Seth recognizes his mop of blond hair. Even without his dragon, Cormag of Grado is a recognizable man; information that Seth spews out before he can stop himself. Maybe more rest would have been ideal…

“Well, if the legendary Silver Knight knows my name, I can’t be doing too badly, huh?” Cormag approaches, holding his left hand out for a shake. Seth takes it after sheathing his sword.

“You and your brother are famous among the knights of Renais. We have no wyvern riders among us, after all.”

“I suppose that makes sense, but perhaps it’s Genarog that deserves their attention, not me.” Cormag smiles as he retracts his hand, settling into an eased position with his arms folded. 

“Well, your mount is certainly a rare sight, but it is your skill in combat that amazes them. I’ve seen you work a few times since you joined us.”

“Oh? And what did you think?”

“I think that I’d love a chance to spar with you at some point.”

Cormag snorts, disregarding the silence of the sleeping camp. “Oh, not a chance. If there’s anything to those stories, then I already know that I could never beat you.”

Seth raises an eyebrow at the man. “So you say, but you don’t look like the kind of man who accepts failure.”

Cormag beams. “Heh… and all this time, I thought you were just another royal dullard.”

“I chose to not be offended by that.”

“Mmn, well I guess I was wrong anyways. We should chat more sometime! Maybe at a time other than midnight.”

Seth looked around at the camp. Still no lanterns lit; surely it was closer to morning than that? He turned back to Cormag, who was fiddling with the buckle on his sword belt. “Yes… I think I’d like that. Perhaps once things have eased up a bit.”

“Sure thing!” Cormag remarks casually.

Seth bids him goodnight and wanders back to his tent. The practice had tired him out… and the conversation cleared his head, so perhaps he would give sleeping another shot. He puts down his weapon, removes his shoes, and passes out as soon as he crawls back into bed. Thankfully, all that awaits him this time is a deep, dreamless sleep. 


	5. angō

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the orson chapter. it's also probably my favorite chapter. proceed at your own risk!

The castle has fallen into disrepair. The gardens teem with weeds and foreign undergrowth, and the gate hinges squeak in anguish as they are pushed open. Seth sighs. Even under the guard of one of Renais’ former knights, the place was a ghost town. 

Though, should he have expected anything more from the shell of the man formerly known as Orson?

He turns from his scout to the royal twins, who hover at the corner of the courtyard, talking quietly. He catches wind of the tail end of a sentence, and is unsurprised to learn that Ephraim is as disappointed with the state of their home as he was. He clears his throat to announce his presence.

“Oh, Seth. Any updates on the situation?” Ephraim asks as he leans against the courtyard wall with his arms folded. 

“Spies report that the situation has not changed in any meaningful capacity. Orson is still holding the castle, but the surrounding town seems to be mostly unaffected, aside from normal byproducts of war. It’s almost as if he’s ignoring them outright.” 

“Orson…” Ephraim rubs his chin, thinking hard. “In retrospect, he was acting odd for a while now. When we were traveling, he seemed… dispirited? Off, in a way.”

“His wife passed some six months back. The loss might have been too much for him… his devotion to her was well known among the knights.” Seth had met Orson’s wife a few times. She was always hanging around the barracks, given that she worked in the castle. She was a kind woman… and he could see how the loss of someone like that could break a man’s spirit.

Eirika remains silent as the two men talk, frown deepening into an expression of sorrow. Even now, after taking so many lives as an act of war, she had still not gotten used to the idea of death.

“He’s got himself holed up in the king’s bedchambers,” Seth continues. Ephraim raises an eyebrow. “He makes no effort to govern. No one is allowed to enter, and he takes no meals.”

“Gods, has he died and no one knows yet?” Ephraim says, rewarding him a horrified slap on the arm from his sister. She turns from him to Seth, eyes full of questions.

“What… what could he possibly be doing in there?”

“I don’t know. He does nothing to deal with the monsters or bandits that run amok… even as Renais devolves into chaos. Region after region is revolting, and Orson’s reign is crumbling. If left alone for long enough, it very well may collapse under the weight of its own neglect.”

Ephraim shakes his head, pushing off the wall. “We cannot allow the situation to reach that point. Come on Eirika. Let’s go retake our home.” He begins to walk back to the front of the army, where milling troops begin to mobilize for their first attack. Seth steps aside as Eirika races past to join him.

The paladin stares up at the high castle walls for a moment before following after her. Perhaps Orson has not truly lost himself. Perhaps he could be convinced. 

\---

“Seth… so you’ve come, have you?”

He should have known better than to hope. 

Orson sits hunched on his horse, one hand gripping his spear, and the other holding a disproportionately intricate shield at his side. It’s gilded and thick; heavier than anything that cavalry usually used. He must have stolen it from the king’s personal stock of arms. The man himself looks beyond ill; his skin is nearly green, and it sinks into his cheeks as if he had not eaten in weeks. His eyes are wild and angry, matching his delirious motions as he defends his throne from the army. His fighting style is degraded; more like the brutal swings of a bandit than of a former knight of Renais. 

Orson doesn’t attack instantly when Seth finally comes to face him. They are mostly alone; a newly promoted Franz and Amelia teeter in the doorway as they wait for more enemies to approach, but other than that, everyone else is spread throughout the castle. The place is positively crawling with foes, and would need to be checked for stragglers several times over before they could claim absolute victory. The Prince and Princess were undoubtedly at the gate, beating back Grado’s reinforcements, which seemed to be nearly endless in number. 

“Are you listening to me?” Orson drawls, sitting up a bit straighter on his horse. The beast looks as unhealthy as its master; underfed and overworked.

“Orson.” Seth addresses the man, tightening his grip on his sword. “Whatever Grado offered you, surely Renais would be able to-”

“Hah!” Orson barks out a laugh, “What they have offered me, I’ve already gotten! The only thing I wanted… returned to me at last. There is nothing your pathetic band could propose to me that I don’t already have.”

Seth scrutinizes the man. “What… what did you ask for, Orson?”

The man merely laughs again, shaking his head and declining to answer. When he’s caught his breath again, he stares at Seth almost fondly, or perhaps mockingly. Probably a bit of both. “You’re an impressive knight, Seth. You would sacrifice your life for king and country. You haven’t stopped for even a moment,” Orson waives his spear in Seth’s direction, “even after all that this  _ job _ has taken from you.”

“Of course I haven’t. If I was such a coward, I never would have become a knight in the first place.”

“The line between cowardice and common sense is a thin one, General.” Orson’s uncomfortable smile drops. “Knighthood… It’s an unrewarding life, through and through. You should have run when you had the chance.”

Seth raises his sword, preparing to strike as his horse paws at the throne room’s dirty carpet. “Never. It is my charge. It is my hope. Sir Orson… prepare yourself.”

Orson’s mount jumps down from the dais, joining Seth in the wide open space of the great hall. 

“Very well… let's see if I can make you see common sense for once in your miserable life.”

Seth horse neighs as he spurs it forwards. Orson hefts his spear before throwing it, and it makes a metallic scream as it collides with Seth’s pauldron. Silverbrand clangs loudly against the king’s shield and the former knight yells in anger, racing by to retrieve his fallen weapon. 

Seth brushes his hand over his damaged armor. The spear was a heavy one, and would have caused a lot of damage to his arm, had it been there. The metal curls around empty space, bunching Seth’s cloak but otherwise doing no significant damage. A dangerous attack for anyone else to take. 

He wheels his horse around, preparing to charge again. Orson throws his spear just as Seth begins his approach; he ducks just in time for the weapon to sail over his head and into the corner, far out of reach. Orson’s arm remains raised for a second too long, the unarmored underside of his shoulder and bicep an obvious target. Seth spurs his horse onwards, plunging the blade into that empty space with enough force to throw both of them from their saddles. Seth’s head hits the floor and he sees stars, but his grip on the weapon does not loosen. Orson’s shoulder guard pops off as the paladin’s sword cleaves through his collarbone, poking out of his chest before sinking into his neck, threading his flesh like a needle. 

He howls like an animal, writhing only managing to tear his flesh further. Seth scrambles on top of the man, preventing him from grabbing his own sword, which was still sheathed at his belt. There was no hope for him, even if he did manage to take hold of a weapon, he would bleed out in minutes. The sticky red substance sprays from his neck like a faucet; a clear sign of a cleaved artery, and hopefully a quick death. It covers Seth’s hand, his blade, his whole front; not to mention the way it soaks into the carpet and dyes red fabric a deep, wet brown. 

Orson stops struggling. He’s not dead, just weakened past the point of fighting. His hands drop to the floor, and his weary eyes search the room, not quite landing on anything. He takes a deep breath, one marred by the gurgling of lungs quickly filling with blood, and as he exhales one final time, he whispers the name of his wife.

Seth checks for a pulse.

There is none to be found.

The knight takes a deep breath as he climbs off the corpse. He looks up as footsteps sound in the hallway, Innes appearing in the now empty doorway, bow in hand. He looks wildly from the body, to Seth, to the throne. “Is it done?”

“Yes,” Seth says quietly. “Call the Princess. The throne is hers to reclaim.”

\---

“I can’t believe it… the castle is ours once again,” Eirika says breathlessly as she follows after Seth.

“Perfect timing too… I don’t know how much longer we could have held off those reinforcements,” Ephraim huffs as he jogs ahead to the top of the stairs. How the prince had so much energy after such a grueling battle, Seth would never know.

“Forde and Kyle can handle the final sweep of the castle. In the meantime, it would be worthwhile to check the king’s chambers… perhaps we can glean something about what Grado offered Sir Orson in order to convince him to betray us.” Seth says, joining Ephraim on the landing. The group makes their way down the hall to the royal chambers without incident; there are no mercenaries lurking here, and most of the rooms seemed to be untouched. Eirika is surprised to see that the bed she had abandoned in her rush to leave weeks ago was exactly as she left it, sheets pooling on the floor and everything. 

“Well, I’m glad no one took anything,” Ephraim says, exiting his own quarters and shutting the door behind him. “You’d think they would at least have the sense to sell our valuables in order to fund their occupation.”

“Why would you want them to do that?” Eirika asks, looking at him curiously. Her brother shakes his head. 

“No, I’m not saying that’s what I  _ want _ them to do. I’m saying it would have been smart.”

“Hold on for just a moment, Milord,” Seth says, sticking his arm across the hallway and preventing the twins from continuing. He stares at the door at the end of the corridor curiously. The king’s bedchambers.

“Seth? Is something wrong?” Eirika whispers, a hand on her rapier.

“I’m not sure… tell me, do either of you smell that?”

They all pause to sniff the air. Eirika wrinkles her nose, while Ephraim looks around, searching for the source of the foul scent.

“It…” Eirika covers her mouth in disgust. “It smells like… rotten meat.”

“Like death…” Ephraim mumbles, still sniffing loudly. 

The smell only grows stronger as the group cautiously approaches the door at the end of the hall. Seth pauses, his hand on the doorknob. 

“Perhaps,” Eirika whispers, “well, the scout said he wasn’t taking meals, correct? Perhaps that's simply the smell of his abandoned food.”

“It’s too strong to be food. Milady, perhaps you should wait-”

Eirika cuts Seth off sharply, but he can still see hesitation in her expression. “No. whatever’s in there… I’m sure that by now, I have seen worse.”

Seth frowns, turning back to the door as Ephraim hefts his lance. “Very well.”

The door creaks open, and the group lays their eyes upon…

Nothing. 

The bedroom is pitch black; heavy curtains drawn over the windows preventing even a speck of light inside. Their own shadows obscure the light from the hallway, so Seth takes a cautious step into the room, hand on the hilt of his sword. The smell is nearly overpowering beyond the threshold, and Ephraim makes a gagging sound as he too steps inside. Eirika is last, hovering near their escape with steel already drawn.

“Do you see anything?” She whispers.

She is answered by a gurgling sound that makes Seth whip around, back to where the bed is. His eyes have adjusted to the light, and he can see the outline of a person, splayed on the mattress.

“Ephraim, the curtains-” The prince is one step ahead, already at the window. He shoves the heavy fabric aside, allowing the midday sun to stream in through dirty glass, revealing-

Seth stumbles backwards, heart skipping several beats before beginning to hammer in his chest. He nearly drops his sword as his back slams against a nearby dresser, and for a moment he does not care about damaging royal belongings, as long as he can get away from-

Eirika shrieks, scrambling out the door and hiding behind the frame. 

Ephraim’s armor screeches against the glass of the window which threatens to crack as he presses himself against it. 

“ _ Fuck! _ ” the prince yells, knocking over a stack of dirty plates as he jumps back.

“...Darling…”

It’s a corpse on the bed; a living, moving corpse. Her body has dried out, cracked skin revealing atrophied muscles beneath. Even from across the room, he can see them, maggots wriggling under her skin, eating away at her even as she moves. She lays naked, legs splayed out, and Seth can see from the bruises on her thighs and the stains on the sheets that she’s been-

He backs away further, joining Eirika near the door. The princess hides behind him, balling her fists into his cape, and for once, he has no desire to push her away, because he is just as terrified as she is. Ephraim scoots over soon after, spear held aloft and pointed at the body on the bed. She lifts her hand, searching the air nearby for them, moving like a puppet with twisted strings.

“That… that’s…” Ephraim stutters, unable to tear his eyes from the monster.

“Orson’s…” Eirika continues for him, voice drifting off as she too continues to stare.

The body gurgles, legs kicking slightly and tangling in the filthy sheets. Her jaw twitches as her head rolls, rotted eyeballs searching for her husband. “Darling. Darling. Darling…  _ darling… darling… _ ”

“This is… This is horrible,” Ephraim whispers, and Seth would be happy to agree, if he wasn’t so close to vomiting. He’s met this woman. He’d known her, conversed with her, even respected her. Orson had reduced his wife to-

Ephraim speaks again over Monica’s muttering. “It’s the same as Emperor Vigarde. She’s already dead, but her corpse… It’s been used to…”

They’re all seeing and thinking the same thing. 

Eirika’s grip tightens on Seth’s cape, pulling his thoughts back down to cruel reality. “Why… why would he…”

Ephraim turns, nudging Seth into the room slightly in order to reach for his sister. The knight stays close to the wall, doing his best to measure his breathing. The urge to dry heave was still quite strong, and the smell wasn’t helping. 

“Eirika, go outside, you don’t need to look at this any longer,” Ephraim says quietly, putting a hand on his sister’s shoulder. She doesn’t argue, and Seth can hear her sob loudly before entering her own room right down the hall. Ephraim returns to the king’s chambers, eyes locking once again with the body. 

Seth swallows the bile in his mouth, gripping the edge of a nearby table hard enough that it creaks. He takes a few deep breaths before speaking, attempting to calm his racing heart and nauseous stomach. He speaks once he’s sure that only words will come out. 

“...You can’t say this thing is truly alive anymore… I’ll…”

Ephraim’s hand takes hold of Seth’s elbow, and the knight doesn’t fight back as the prince directs him towards the door. The prince lets go when Seth is across the threshold, studying the man briefly before turning back towards the bed. His glove is stained with blood, no doubt Orson’s. Seth is still coated in it, which makes this whole situation that much more dizzying. “No… I’ll do it. You look ready to pass out.” The bile rises again in Seth’s throat, silencing any arguments he might have. “Gods… the two of them spent every day in here, did they? There’s no question, Orson was mad.”

Seth’s vision strays over Ephraim’s shoulder to the bed. At this angle, he can only see Monica’s bottom half. Her leg twitches as she moves again, searching for a man who was not there. The drone of  _ darling… darling… darling… _ echoes in his ears, so distracting that he almost misses Ephraim’s next words.

“Mad… but I think he was happy.”

\---

To his credit, Seth makes it all the way to his office on the other side of the castle before his constitution gives way. Slamming the door behind him, he doesn’t stop to check if his belongings are untouched, instead rushing straight to the bathroom and hunching over the sink. He coughs up his lunch a second later, knees weak as he leans against the wall for support. He stands there choking until there’s nothing left to gag on, breaths interrupted by the occasional painful dry heave. The sound of Monica’s voice echoes in his head,  _ darling… darling… darling… darling… _

He grabs a nearby towel off the floor and wipes his mouth with it. It’s gone slightly moldy from sitting in this unventilated room for god knows how long, but the smell of rotten fabric helps to distract his mind from the smell of rotten flesh. He drops the towel and turns on the tap of the sink, looking away as the evicted sludge slowly oozes down the drain. He drinks from the faucet before removing the armor on his hand with his teeth. He throws his gauntlet and glove into the office proper, and they clang against the floor before coming to rest against his desk. He does the same with the rest of his armor, carelessly tossing all of it out of the small room where he can be bothered by it later. 

Without the armor literally holding him upright, he nearly collapses against the sink. The adrenaline of battle and panic are long gone now, leaving only disgust, fear, and paranoia in their wake. Seth takes a deep breath. 

He should be happy. Renais was reclaimed. Based on the sounds he had heard when rushing here, the public was already gathering to celebrate the good news. 

He should be happy.

He doesn’t have the strength to feel anything but bone-deep exhaustion.

Seth sighs, opening eyes he doesn’t remember closing. His heartbeat wasn’t in his throat anymore, and the shake was almost gone from his fingers. He catches his own glare in the mirror and his frown deepens. The war hasn’t been kind to any of them. Eirika’s skin peels around her cheeks from weeks of sunburns, her fair complexion not used to being outside practically every hour of the day. Franz’s right eyebrow is an inch shorter than it should be; a burn turning the corner of his face into a scarred mess. Kyle lost two of his fingers to a lucky mercenary, and Natasha still can’t close her hand all the way without shaking. They’ve all given a lot.

And Seth sees all of them when he looks in the mirror. He looks, as Lalia would put it, like dog shit. His vision is still blurred, but when he squints he can make out skin that is pale, scarred, and clammy. The whites of his eyes are nearly as red as his hair, which is far too long and sticks out from his skull at odd, unkempt angles. His clothes hang off his frame sadly, a size or so too big; one of the many byproducts of living off of living off of nothing but meager rations for weeks on end. He rubs his chin with a clammy hand; he could at least shave, but perhaps it would be best to fully calm down before handling any knives. 

A knock on the door draws his attention away from the mirror. Wiping his mouth on his sleeve one more time for good measure, he pushes away from the sink and wanders out of the bathroom, kicking aside the discarded armor pieces as he goes. When he opens the door, a frazzled but unharmed Natasha greets him, hovering in the doorway with a staff in her hands.

“Seth…”

“Sister Natasha. How are you?” He steps aside to let her in. “Ah, you’ll have to forgive the mess,” he says as she steps carefully around a piece of sabaton that lays in her way.

“It’s alright… the whole palace really is in chaos, isn’t it? My prayers will be with the cleaning staff tonight,” she says, smiling slightly. Seth responds with a halfhearted smile of his own, and Natasha’s expression falls.

“Lord Ephraim sent me to check on you. I saw… I saw what happened in the royal quarters when Ephraim asked me to do some holy rites for him… He had me come straight here afterwards; he said you looked unwell.”

“I’ve been better. But it’s nothing that rest can’t fix.”

“Well, you’ll get the opportunity… Lord Ephraim says we march in three days time for Rausten.”

“Three days? Why wait so long?”

Natasha gives him a look that clearly reads as “ _ are you kidding me? _ ” before speaking again. “Half the army is injured, and the other half is exhausted. If they get pushed too hard, then we’ll just end up tripping over ourselves and failing before we even cross the border. A little care can go a long way, you know.”

Seth mulls over her words. In truth, he is only half listening; exhaustion has filled the part of his brain used for such unimportant tasks as “thinking” and “planning” with cotton. Maybe she was onto something in regards to needing rest. He nods in response to her words, turning his head and walking to the window. He can see the training yard from here. The convoy and medical carts are parked in the middle, and people walk to and fro, gathering and moving supplies from the castle in preparation for the trip.

He’s startled by a sharp pain at the back of his skull. His head swivels around fast enough to both give him a headache and knock Natasha’s hand away, which she places back on her staff. When had she crept up behind him?

“You’ve got blood on the back of your head,” she remarks, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. Seth reaches up to confirm that there was indeed a patch of quickly drying crust on the spot she had touched, complete with a painful bruise underneath. 

“I think I hit my head in the throne room. I didn’t notice until you poked it,” he said, glowering at her. She raised her eyebrow. 

“Good thing I did then, it’s dangerous to go to sleep with an untreated head injury.”

“Head injury? It’s merely a scratch.”

“Tell me, are you feeling dizzy at all?” She begins to count off on her fingers as she lists off possible ailments, “Or perhaps nauseous? Bad headache?”

“I always have a bad headache. It’s part of my job.”

“I heard you throw up in the sink, General.”

“... Of course you did.”

He walks to his desk and sits down heavily, head spinning. Natasha follows him. “May I take a look?”

“If you must.”

She pokes him again, and he hisses as she apologizes. The warm glow of healing magic falls over his shoulders as she raises her staff, and his headache ebbs away a bit. She comes back into view with a gentle smile on her face.

“You should be alright now, but let someone know if anything strange happens, or if you feel like passing out.”

“I already feel like passing out,” Seth remarks quietly, more to himself than to Natasha. She tuts anyways.

“I mean for reasons outside of what’s expected, after a battle like that. Speaking of which… I think all of the injured are being seen to, but I should make sure before I retire for the evening,” she says, making her way back across the cluttered floor. 

Seth sits up straighter in his chair as she turns her back. “Wait, before you leave- Have you seen the princess?”

Natasha turns around, putting a finger on her chin in thought. “I may have passed her in the hall… she was with Prince Innes, but I don’t know where they were going… Would you like me to ask around for her?”

Seth sinks backwards, trying not to let disappointment show on his face. 

“No, no need for that. She’s clearly in good hands.”


	6. horrēscō

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's so much fucked up shit in fire emblem we take for granted. can you even imagine how scary it must be to have the stone status effect on you?????????????

_“No, you’ll shatter your wrist if you hold your lance like that.”_

_His father comes into view, plucking the javelin from Seth’s grip with ease. The older man considers the weapon before handing it back. “Perhaps… no this lance is the best bet for now. Anything heavier would be unwieldy without practice. Spread your grip out more; if your hands are too close together, you’ll become off balance._

_“I always use a lance with one hand when on horseback..?”_

_“On horseback, but you are not currently on a horse, yes? There are techniques for one handed lance work, but you need to get stronger before you can pull that sort of thing off. When you’re older, I’ll teach you.” The man sounds very serious, but the way his moustache bristles at the corners tells Seth that he’s not here to be a drill sergeant today. “Perhaps your mother would be a better teacher for this kind of thing… Pegasus knights and javelins go hand in hand. You know I prefer my axe…”_

_Seth has trained with an axe, and it only took a few hours of wild swinging to decide that the weapon would never be for him. All power, no precision._

_Sir Elwin of Renais readies his own lance, and it’s not long before the javelin is knocked from Seth’s hands, sent flying backwards as he falls backwards._

_“Whoops, sorry there boy,” an armored hand obstructs Seth’s stunned view of the sky, and he takes it before getting hauled to his feet. “Why don’t we finish up here for the day.”_

_The hand lets him go, and the world fades to grey._

\---

Seth leaves Eirika alone after she strikes down Lyon. The man doesn’t die, that much is almost certain, but the anguished look on the Princess’ face is enough to dissuade most people from trying to talk to her. She even shakes Ephraim off as she pitches her tent in silence and crawls inside. 

“She just needs some time to come to terms with everything,” Ephraim had said, and Seth is in no place to argue. That’s what brings him here, standing at the outskirts of camp, idly watching the river as it flows by. 

The blood from the battle that took place here hours before has washed away; monster and human bodies alike disposed of in a pyre an hour upstream. He glances at the shadows of fish swimming between the rocks before turning his attention back to the paper resting against his knee. The messenger was set to arrive in mere moments; if he wanted this letter to be delivered, he would have to wrap it up.

_-Other than that, I am completely fine. I can’t guarantee I will be able to make it over there while marching, but schedule permitting, I will see you soon._

_Regards,_

_Seth_

He rereads the letter, crossing out words here and there and fixing a spelling mistake or two before placing it in a stained envelope. The army’s stationary supplies had been left out in the rain for a few moments too many a few days ago, and now all their paper had a terrible wrinkled texture to it… they would have to restock in the next major city. 

“Sir?” Seth looks behind him as Franz pokes his head in between two tents. “The messenger has arrived. You said you have something to send?”

“I’ll be there in a moment, make sure that she doesn’t leave.” He quickly writes an address on the front of the letter before standing and dusting himself off. He spots the pegasus overhead as he follows Franz to the nearby field, where the beast lands in a flurry of wingbeats. Franz hands him the army’s bundle of letters before rushing back to his own duties, and Seth tucks his own message under the packaging string at the top of the pile.

He turns back to the messenger to hand the stack over and receive her report. “This should be- wait, Anara?”

The pegasus rider blinks at his owlishly, as if unsure of who she’s looking at. “Seth?”

“I didn’t know you joined the army.”

She shrugs, holding her hand out for the letters, which Seth hands over. “Merc group dissolved after the boss found out that his wife’s village was razed. I went straight to Frelia, and the second they saw that I had a pegasus, I was already signed on.”

“...They drafted you? But you’re not a Frelian citizen.”

She waves her hand dismissively. “No, I joined myself. If I had known messengers get paid so much, I would have quit being a mercenary months ago.”

“I see,” Seth says. “Don’t get used to it. They probably only pay well during war, when flying over borders is dangerous. You _are_ being careful, right?”

“Of course. I’m not a fool.” She continues to stare down at him, eyes cast in shadow by her thick hair. “You’re taking care of yourself as well, right?”

“As best as I can.”

If Anara notices anything different about his appearance, she doesn’t show it. She’s always been unreadable that way.

“Well, in any case, I do have something interesting to report. There’s been a lot of monster activity in the mountains between here and Rausten. I didn’t get a good look at exactly what they were when I was flying, but villagers describe the beasts as snakelike witches. Lots of hearsay about turning people into stone. Seems like something you would want to know, since you’re headed in that direction.”

“Snakelike witches…” Seth wracks his brain for a monster fitting that description, but comes up with nothing. “And you’re sure these are monsters, not just a group of deep woods cultists?”

“One lady said that they hatch from eggs. That doesn’t sound like anything human to me.”

“Fair enough,” Seth remarks. “You are heading back to Rausten, correct?”

“Mmhm.”

“I’ll let you get on your way then; please be careful.”

“Same to you. Try not to get eaten by a witch. It would be a shame to lose the only man left in the family. I’m delivering to Clara on the way to my next stop, and she’ll maim me if you force me to arrive with bad news.”

Seth gives her a look, but the pegasus whinnies loudly over his response. Anara gives him a limp-wristed salute before spurring her mount skywards, circling higher and higher over the camp before sailing east once more. 

Snakelike witches… he would have to ask Lute what she knew.

\---

Seth’s horse whinnies in pain as it falls slightly short of safe ground; one hoof landing in the cooling lava that coated the dirt behind them. He spurs it forwards, and it complies in a panic, stepping nervously from one foot to the other as it snorted in the smoke-filled air.

Mount Nerelas is exactly the type of place where one could believe that snakelike witches live, even if Lute had verbally doubted Anara’s given description of them. Seth turns behind him as his horse finally stops stumbling; only its shoe suffering major damage from the hot ground.

“Careful, there’s a patch of molten earth here,” he calls back as Franz makes it across the gap unscathed.

“Yes Sir!” Kyle’s voice responds from somewhere behind an outcropping of rock. 

Forde is the next one to cross, landing heavily with an “Oof!” as his horse barely clears the lava pit.

Kyle joins them at last, looking back at the steaming ground as he lands, frowning as he goes. “Was traveling through this specific mountain absolutely necessary? Surely, there are paths around here that would have been safer?”

Forde pipes up in Seth’s stead, “Prince Ephraim said that the other routes were occupied. Besides, this is the most direct way.” He smirks at his friend. “Scared of those witches everyone is talking about?”

Kyle gives him a serious glare. “It’s good practice to be prepared for anything. But no, I was more referring to the lava. How will those without mounts jump over these pits?”

“They’re going the long way around,” Seth responded from the front of the group.

“Still...it seems unsafe. More cracks in the ground could form at any moment. This place is a deathtrap…” Franz says, giving his brother a concerned look. Forde leans over and reaches to give Franz a metallic pat on the shoulder. 

“You don’t have to worry about a thing, kiddo. Just follow my lead.”

“But you crossed the lava after me…”

“Er,” Forde pauses, “Well, from now on-”

“Hold,” Seth says sharply, interrupting Forde’s attempt at brotherly bonding. “Do you see that up there?”

“Where?”

Seth points to one of the ridges at their flank with his sword. Something sits on top, a smooth white shape standing out from the jagged red and brown rock around it.

“Oh, what _is_ that,” Forde mumbles, pushing ahead of the group to hop up on a nearby ledge. His head reappears at the top of the ridge, looking down at the object curiously.

“Please be careful…” Franz whispers, more to himself than to anyone else. Forde taps the top of the object with the tip of his lance, and it makes a hollow thudding sound.

“Call me crazy, but this looks like some sort of egg to me.”

“Bael eggs?” Seth asks, urging his horse to follow Forde up the hill. The other knights fall into step behind him, equally curious. 

“Not sure. What do you guys think?” The knight nudges the egg with his lance again, poking through the shell with the tip of his blade. Soft cracking sounds fill the air as he pushes the weapon in deeper, meeting resistance as he goes. “Let’s see what you are…”

He raises his lance, pulling whatever monster was inside out into the waking world. It’s about the size of a small person, covered in embryonic slime as it dangles lifelessly from the end of the spear. Seth notes it’s scaly lower body and clawed hands as Forde makes a disgusted noise, tossing the fetus aside. 

“Snakelike witches…” Kyle says, looking around to the rest of the eggs that surround them. “Should we break these, Sir?”

“That might be for the best.” Seth responds, bringing his sword down on the closest one. It cracks easily, spilling its contents down the ridge. Franz and Kyle join in, and soon enough, the clutch of eggs is reduced to a large puddle of ooze on the ground. The knights return to the path as soon as they are finished, not wanting to fall too far behind.

They see no more eggs as they go, but the pools of lava become more frequent, upsetting the horses as they inch closer and closer to the center of the mountain. Seth is drawn out of his thoughts by the sound of Franz speaking quietly in apprehension.

“Did any of you hear that?”

Forde looks around, and Kyle tightens his grip on his lance. 

“Hear what, Franz?” Seth asks, also scanning the nearby area for any sign of trouble. There was nothing around; just more rocks.

“I heard… a hissing sound.”

“From which direction?”

“I’m… not sure.”

Forde narrows his eyes as he spurs his horse forwards, still searching the nearby hills for any sign of life. “Perhaps it was just the hiss of air escaping from under the ground? There’s an awful lot of cracks around here.”

“No, it sounded different. It sounded... alive.”

Seth redirects his gaze from the cliffs back to the road ahead. “Well… whatever it is, it doesn’t seem to be close at the moment. Let us know if you hear it again.”

“Gods, it better not be a witch…” Kyle mutters.

“So you _are_ afraid of them!” Forde chides, a sly smile on his face.

Kyle rolls eyes when he thinks Seth isn’t looking. “Fear and caution are different. It would be better if we didn’t meet one, don’t you think?”

“I would have to agree with Kyle,” Seth says. “This terrain is unsuitable for combat… fighting a monster in its natural habitat could be disastrous.”

“There it is again! The hiss!” Franz yelps, looking around wildly. This time, the others heard it too. 

“Whatever it is… it’s close.” Seth mutters, urging his horse to the middle of the path. If it came to a fight, the more room they had to move, the better. 

As the others follow his lead, a low whine fills the air. The sound of black magic.

“Shit,” Forde swears, passing Franz’s horse with his shield raised.

The air crackles with energy, but when the whine abates, nothing seems to have changed. “Is everyone alright?” Seth asks, looking at the others. They all nod, expressions ranging from determined to anxious.

“Whatever it is, it must have missed…” Franz whispers, gripping the reins of his horse tightly. 

“Let’s pick up the pace a bit. Perhaps if we get out of its territory-” Seth is cut off by another magical whine, followed by a yell from behind. 

“ _Fuck!_ Kyle-” Forde shouts in response, wheeling his horse around as the other man’s scream abates. Seth follows suit, sword at the ready.

Kyle still sits on his mount, eyes bulging from their sockets as he leans forward, hunched. Seth looks him up and down as Forde rushes to his side, and despite the panic on the man’s face, no sign of harm is to be found.

“Kyle- man, what is it?” Forde leans in to get a better look at his stunned face. Kyle blinks, expression turning from one of shock to one of confusion.

“I… I felt something for a moment, but now…”

“Up there!” Franz yells, pointing behind the party to a nearby cliff. A dark shadow begins to crawl towards them, and the light of a nearby lava pool glints off it’s slick scales and wide eyes.

“That must be the mother of those eggs we smashed,” Kyle says, dismayed.

Forde hefts his silver lance, placing himself firmly between the beast and the rest of the knights. “Well then, let's send her to meet her babies, shall we?” He rushes forwards, unafraid despite the threatening hiss the monster directs at him. Seth flanks the beast’s other side, and as Forde pins the gorgon to the cliff face with his lance, he slashes at its neck with his sword. Its head rolls into the lava with a splash and a sizzle, filling the surrounding air with the smell of burnt meat. 

“Was it just the one?” Seth asks, watching the beast’s body slide down the wall and flop to the side lifelessly. 

“Hopefully… though, that wasn’t too bad. It’s attack didn’t even do anything, right Kyle?”

Kyle shakes his arms out experimentally. “I… I don’t think so. I feel fine.”

“Maybe you’re just immune?”

“You can be immune to magic?” Franz asks.

“Uh…” Seth pauses, “I’m not sure about that. Kyle, have a healer take a look at you when we rejoin the others.

“Yes Sir.”

They turn from the scene of the monster murder and continue on their way. Franz takes the lead in defeating a bael that blocks their path, but other than that, they make their way up and down the mountain without incident. Flat ground is in sight soon enough, populated by the small forms of pegasi and wyverns that had beaten them to the bottom. 

“Almost there,” Seth calls back to the others. Franz breathes a sigh of a relief to his left.

“Sir,” Kyle starts before trailing off. Seth looks at him, and the other knight stares back, face scrunched in confusion.

“Is there a problem?”

“Sir, I don’t… I’m just realizing… I don’t think I can feel my feet.”

Seth raises his eyebrows. “Are you sure?”

Kyle twitches, taking a deep breath. “Yes… I don’t know how long it’s been happening; I wasn’t paying attention, but-” He’s interrupted by Forde, who stares at the top of his friend’s head in confusion.

“Kyle, you’re going grey.”

“What?” 

“Your hair. Some of it is grey now.”

Kyle reaches up to feel around on his head, only to smack himself in the face with his shield. He stares at the object as if it had insulted his mother before looking up at the others in a panic. “I can’t open my hand. _I can’t feel my fingers._ ”

“Gimme your hand,” Forde says, not waiting for an answer as he grabs the other man’s arm. He tugs on Kyle’s closed fist, face turning red with strain as he pulls on unmoving fingers. “Shit, either your grip is crazy strong, or…”

“I’m turning to stone,” Kyle says quietly. Seth looks at him questioningly, and he continues. “Lute- she told me about magic that can turn anything into stone, even people. That’s what the monster hit me with- and I didn’t notice!” Alarm crosses the knight’s face as Forde continues to tug on his gauntlet, which remains firmly clamped around his weapon. 

“What do we do?!” Franz asks, voice increasing in pitch as he too starts to panic. 

“You need a healer. Waiting around would be unwise.” Seth says, making way for Kyle’s mount. “Forde, you ride alongside him and make sure he doesn’t lose control of his horse. We need to pick up the pace.”

They make it almost all the way to the bottom of the mountain before things really go to shit. More bael and gorgons attack, and while no one else is injured, it does slow them down significantly. Seth looks over his shoulder as Kyle lets out a sound that sounds like two stones grinding against each other. 

“Kyle?” Forde speaks in a low voice, leaning into Kyle’s personal space. The blond paladin had dismounted a while ago in order to better direct Kyles horse, as well as his own. The pale man at his side wheezes again.

“It’s getting hard to breath,” the great knight slurs, “... and talk. Good thing… this is… reversible… or so Lute says...” Patches of grey crawl over his face, irritating his unharmed skin and producing red, rash-like stripes as it continues to overtake his body. His arms hang stiff at his sides, and as he moves his shoulders, Seth can hear a muffled grinding sound from several feet away. 

Seth holds out his hand to Forde. “I’ll lead your horse. You climb on with him and get to the bottom of the mountain.”

Forde hands over the reins and climbs up behind Kyle; teetering on the end of his saddle uncomfortably. The horse whinnies in distress; the combined weight of two grown men, one of whom was rapidly turning to granite, was almost too much for the beast to bear. Forde reaches around Kyle’s sides to grab at the reins that were trapped in the other man’s stiff grip, tugging on them to urge the horse forwards. It whinnies, surging into a gallop that nearly knocks both men off it’s back. Franz hisses as he watches, and Seth can’t help but share in his worry; falling off of a fast-moving object was a surefire way to shatter stone, and the last thing Kyle needed was to crack a limb off when they were this close to escape. 

“Franz, with me,” Seth says, urging his own horse to follow suit. A few more monsters hiss and sputter at them as they ride past, but they are ignored in favor of pressing onwards. General Syrene’s pegasus appears overhead, beating back a gargoyle that gets just a bit too close to the group. They had been spotted, which meant they were almost-

The rough ground gave away to dirt, and then grass. Seth turns towards Franz, sending him to find a healer before their mounts have even stopped. He slows his horse as he approaches the other knights, jumping down and racing towards Kyle as soon as he is able. Forde already has two feet on the ground, and is talking quickly to Cormag, who stands on the other side of Kyle with a hand on the great knight’s lance. 

“Kyle? Can you hear me?” Forde asks, voice nervous as he waves a hand in front of his friend’s face. Seth looks up at Kyle, and is dismayed to see that his panicked expression is now a grey, unmoving mask, stripes of flesh replaced completely with granite. The only indication that the man is alive is a shallow rise and fall of his chest and the accompanying sounds that that action makes. Even his eyes are flat, grey spheres, static where they are inset into his head. The horse beneath him whinnies again in strain.

“We have to move him, before he kills his mount. Cormag, if you could, uh…” Forde trails off, gears in his head spinning as he tries to think of a way to get Kyle down without literally breaking him.

Seth speaks up, moving to Cormag’s side. “Push him this way. Do his legs bend at all?”

Kyle jerks on his horse, left leg bending at the hip with a crunching sound. Forde shoves the heavy limb back down with a grunt. “Hey! Don’t move around. We’re trying to help you.”

Seth takes a hold of Kyle’s midsection, “Forde, you’re going to push him this way, and we’ll catch him. Cormag, if you could make sure his head doesn’t hit the ground-”

“Sure thing.”

Seth looks up at the stone man. “Kyle, if you can hear me, I order you not to move. We don’t want to drop you.” He moves his gaze to Forde. “Go ahead and push him. And make sure his horse doesn’t make a break for it.”

Kyle is _heavy_. Cormag grunts as the petrified man’s upper body falls into his arms, muscles visibly straining under the weight of what was mostly solid stone. Forde runs around their side of the horse to take a hold of Kyle’s legs; preventing them from smashing against the ground. It’s a heavy load, even for three grown men, and Seth exhales roughly when the man is finally close enough to the ground to drop. 

“Fuck,” Cormag says, shaking out his hand as he releases the man’s head from his grip. “His hair poked through my glove.” Sure enough, beads of red oozed from his hand through holes in the worn leather. Kyle makes another wheezing noise as his legs flop over, knees frozen in a bent position from their ride down the mountain. 

Behind them, the sound of hoofbeats call the group’s attention to Franz’s triumphant return, L’arachel and Ephraim hot on his heels. The prince stumbles off his horse before it fully stops, kneeling next to Forde in the grass and looking over his retainer’s body in a panic.

“What the hell happened?” He asks, looking from one face to another for answers.

“We were attacked by a monster wielding stone magic. It should be reversible, or so I hear,” Seth says, looking to L’arachel to confirm. Her hair is in disarray and her clothes are singed by what could only be a lava-related mishap, but she looks determined and otherwise fine. 

“Of course! This should be simple, so please move aside!” She states, joining the group huddled around the man in the grass. 

“Careful L’arachel,” Ephraim orders, “No theatrics. Treat this man the way you would treat a brother of mine.”

She flicks a loose strand of hair away from her face and raises her staff. “Naturally, my dear prince.” There is a pulse of red from her hands, and with a gasp, Kyle seizes on the ground, the grey color of his skin creeping back inch by inch to reveal pale but living flesh beneath. His legs slide in the grass as the stiffness in his knees gives way, and his lance and shield escape his grip and roll away as Forde grabs onto his now tactile fingers. 

“You’re alright... thank the gods,” He mumbles into the other man’s glove. Kyle’s head rolls to look at his fellow retainer, raising an arm to his face to cough up what could only be a cloud of dust. Ephraim pats the great knight on his armored shoulder in relief, rolling his eyes when L’arachel flashes him a confident grin. 

Seth thanks her in the Prince’s stead. “Your help is appreciated as always, Princess.”

She waved her staff in the air, eyes closed and hand raised in an expression of dainty self-assurance. “Of course. My talents allow me to beat back all measures of evil from the bodies and minds of our army, and I am happy to cure this dear boy of his ailment using my saintly magic!”

Ephraim looks up from where Kyle is slowly starting to sit up to fix the back of L’arachel’s head with a tired glare. Seth ignores him, giving the princess a professional nod before stepping back to wrangle Kyle’s spooked horse. The animal snorts at him cautiously before allowing itself to be handled, obviously afraid of being crushed again.

“We rest for an hour, then we make for the nearest town. I think we deserve to sleep in beds tonight, now that we’re across the border,” Ephraim states loudly.

Seth looks up at him. “What’s the nearest town from here, Milord?”

L’arachel butts in again, her knowledge of Rausten’s geography overshadowing the prince’s by a mile. “Lehua is but a quarter of a day’s ride from here! A town of that size must have several inns we can spread our army between!”

Seth hummed to himself. Lehua…right on schedule.

\---

He splits from the group as they enter the town. He gives Franz his intended location in case of an emergency, but other than that, tells no one where he will be going. For just one night, he doesn’t want to be bothered. 

It’s dark by the time he arrives. It’s a small inn, only fit to hold one or two patrons aside from the owner; a place that the army overlooked in favor of more spacious accommodations. The sign on the front tilts and creaks in the breeze as Seth takes the path up to the door, travel bag slung over his shoulder. Perhaps it was a bad idea to abandon his armor with the convoy, but it seemed inappropriate to wear it here. His sword was still at his side, but he could deal with the berating he would get for that later. He brushes his hair with his hand and pushes open the door. 

A bell jingles as he enters the warm room. It’s a meager setup; there’s a wooden bar set against the wall and some tables and chairs scattered about. The fire is still burning in the hearth, despite the lack of guests. Nobody’s here, but a woman’s voice calls out from somewhere else in the building, “I’ll be with you in a moment!”

“Don’t rush,” he calls back, “it’s only me.” Something clatters to the ground out of sight. Seth leans to get a better view of the hallway. “Are you alright?”

A woman with long orange hair wearing a cooking apron appears from one of the rooms beyond, socked feet slipping on the wooden floor as she skids to a stop in the hall.

“Hello Clara-” Seth is cut off by the woman rushing him, scrambling to wrap her arms around his middle in a ferocious hug. “You got my letter?”

She backs up nodding. “I did… Anara told me you were on your way to Rausten a few days ago… With all those tales of monsters in the mountains, I got so worried.”

Seth nods. “We had a bit of trouble, I’ll admit… but everyone’s fine.”

Clara turns around, gesturing Seth forward towards one of the tables. “I was just cleaning up the kitchen for the night, let me get some food for you. Go sit down.” She disappears back down the hall as Seth sets his bag on the floor and takes a seat, shedding his overcoat as he goes. It wasn’t that far into the chilly season yet, but the warmth of the fire felt good regardless. He closes his eyes, resting his face in his hand for just a moment. 

“Oh, you’ve already fallen asleep?” Seth cracks an eye open as his sister reappears in the room holding two plates. He moves his arm as she slides one of them to him before sitting in the other chair. He mumbles a thanks before picking up the fork.

“So,” Clara says between bites of something vaguely meat-based, “how have you been? Aside from…” She trails off as she looks at the empty sleeve of his shirt, “...the obvious.”

Seth sighs. “I’ll admit I’ve been far better. War is stressful.”

She smirks slightly. “I know. That’s why I quit during training.”

“Maybe you _are_ the smartest of us…”

Clara hums to herself before looking to his shoulder again. “You didn’t say in your letter… did you catch the guy that… did that?” 

Valter’s split skull, blood oozing from his fractured cranium and spilling down his face, makes Seth involuntarily shiver in his seat. “Yeah… we got him.”

“Good,” Clara says, nodding in approval. She was never the sort of person to condone violence, but when it came to matters of war… she understood. Vengeance was a near universal concept, even for former clerics. 

Seth tells her everything that’s happened since the fall of the castle. Aside from the occasional question, she remains quiet, listening intently and nodding along. “-and now we go to the Rausten palace to assure the safety of their sacred stone,” he finishes. Clara leans back in her chair. 

“It’s gotten bad out there, huh?”

“It did, but it’s getting better… or so we hope. Renais is ours again, so that’s something.”

“But this… Demon King… Surely, you won’t actually be fighting such a beast? That’s a death sentence!” 

Seth moves to shake his head, before pausing. “It… will not be easy.” Clara glares at him. He interrupts her before she can argue. “If we don’t do it, no one else will. Some sacrifices will have to be made, but if we don’t… whatever the Demon King plans on doing, it will undoubtedly bring about some form of apocalypse.”

“You shouldn’t talk so flippantly of sacrifices.”

“Not flippant. Just realistic.”

She puts a hand on her chin, leaning on her arm for support as she continues to judge him from across the table. “I hate it when you all talk like that.”

“All?”

“Lalia and Milena send letters every week or so, and they sound exactly the same as you do.”

“It’s part of being in the service.”

Clara grimaces, “They’re not on their way to fight the Demon King though. Only you’re foolish enough to attempt that.”

“I’m not wandering into the Darkling Woods by myself!” 

She bites her lip nervously, unconvinced. Seth sighs. “Enough talk of the war… how have you been? I hear that Rausten has been fairly separated from the chaos so far?”

Clara glares at him, clearly not content with his refusal to see reason, but tired enough to let the issue rest for now. “It’s been calm so far… We’ve had more mercenary companies traveling through on their way west… and there’s been shortages in imported goods. We’re doing better than everyone else though, so I can’t complain.”

“How’s Ilar?”

“You just missed him, actually. He left yesterday as a member of the supply party. They’ll all be back in a week’s time, but I suppose you’ll be gone by then?”

Seth nods. “We resume our march to the capital tomorrow morning.”

“Early?”

“Mmm.”

Clara glances behind her towards the hall. “I already put Maia to bed… You’ll be long gone before she wakes up.”

“Maybe it would be better to not tell her I was here. Who knows when I’ll be back…”

She looks upset as she gathers the empty plates, and Seth follows her to the kitchen, hovering in the doorway as she dumps it all in the sink, not bothering to clean them. “Go get your stuff,” she directs as she leans against the bannister of the staircase. “You’re lucky, we have a room open.”

Seth slings his bag over his shoulder once more before grabbing his coat. “Would you have made me sleep on the floor?”

Clara smiles slightly, and Seth feels a little less guilty. “If the beds are full, the couch is always available. That’s where Anara crashes when she comes through on a delivery.” She begins to walk up the stairs, and the knight follows after her. She stops in front of a plain wooden door, pushing it open to reveal an empty room with a bed, a small table, and a chair. “Here you go.”

“Appreciated,” Seth mumbles, walking through the door as Clara yawns.

“Well, I’m heading to bed… let me know if you need anything.”

“Of course. Again, thank you.”

Clara raises an eyebrow at him before waving her hand and disappearing out of sight further down the hall, leaving Seth in silence.


	7. pudeō

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> time for a party sequence complete with alcohol fueled poor decisions.

“Seth!” He turns around at the voice. He hasn’t spoken to Eirika since they left Renais, but here she is, approaching him with Sieglinde at her side and a worried expression on her face.

“Princess. Are you well?”

She stops at his side, looking out over the sea of soldiers preparing for battle. Reinforcements from Grado are hot on their tail, and not even a moment of rest could be afforded, despite them just arriving at Rausten’s capital. 

“I’m fine Seth… though I wish we could rest for even a few hours before jumping into battle… Everyone is exhausted. I’m worried we might slip up somewhere…”

“Don’t become distracted with concern, Princess. Our army has dealt with far harsher conditions and has come out on top before, correct?”

“Fair point. Still, I hope Grado’s forces are small, so that this is over with soon. And I hope that…” She trails off.

“Princess?”

“I just… I hope that Lyon is not among them. I still feel terribly about, well, you know.”

The fact that Eirika had given Lyon the stone is no secret. Seth hadn’t been there when she handed it over to the prince (or had it been the Demon King?), but the story had spread quickly. Reactions to her actions varied; her closest friends felt sympathy, while the lower rank-and-file soldiers saw the act as selfish. Some even suspect her of being a double agent for Grado, which Seth knows is false. Still, he can’t help but be… disappointed in her. Surely by now, she should know better-

“...I’m sure that Prince Lyon has returned to Grado by now, Princess.” It’s a poor attempt at comfort that both of them know is false. The Demon King had made his intentions clear and was probably deep within the Darkling Woods by now, rallying his hellish armies and preparing his body for resurrection. Eirika doesn’t argue though. Maybe she’s too tired to disagree, or maybe she’s trying to convince herself that Seth’s lie has some truth to it.

They stand in silence, watching the soldiers go by. They do a lot of this nowadays; standing around and not talking. Seth doesn’t want to worry her with questions; she already knows what he’s thinking. And since she refuses to seek safety, Seth has since stopped asking. 

“Say…” she says, catching his attention once more. “Have you… been avoiding me lately?”

“Of course not, Milady. That would be counterproductive to my job.”

“No- I mean, outside of battle. Every time the fighting ends, you seem to vanish. I understand that you’re busy, but I don’t know… you used to be around a lot more.”

“...”

“Seth?”

“Milady…” He hesitates, unsure of the best way to broach the topic. “You’ve been through a lot lately, so I thought it would be best to give you your space. Besides, now that we’ve convened with others of your… station… I would assume their company is something you would prefer.”

“Well, I do love speaking with Tana, L’arachel, and the rest, but I consider you a friend as well. I wish you wouldn’t be so distant.”

He frowns at that, but his thoughts are interrupted by a loud bang from the floor below. A shout of “ _they’ve breached the gate!_ ” echoes through the halls, and soldiers take to the stairs. Seth draws his sword. 

“Milady, Prince Ephraim and I will handle this. Please, take cover-”

Eirika grips her own rapier tightly as she pushes forward, towards danger. “I can take care of myself, Seth. Come, we must protect Pontifex Mansel!”

The knight grits his teeth and follows her down the stairs. 

\---

It takes them hours to clean up after the battle. The blood of many a Grado soldier stains the carpets and walls of Rausten’s palace, and it will take weeks to truly cleanse this place of all the deaths that took place here during just this one battle. Seth resists the urge to scratch at the bandages on his cheek as he wanders down one of those halls. Where he was going, he wasn’t sure, but sitting idly in his room would surely drive him mad. Where was everyone else?

He stops a maid in the corridor, and she directs him to the great hall, where the army was reportedly “causing a bigger mess than the invaders.” Sighing, he begins the trek there, passing more workers and maids as he goes. He can hear the ruckus before even he finds the door.

He enters cautiously, sticking close to the wall and trying not to be seen. Everyone is drinking and relaxing, but he just isn’t in the mood for merriment tonight. Eirika’s words weigh heavy on his mind, and though he sees her sitting at a far table, he cannot bring himself to approach. It just isn’t his place, especially once he notices Tana and L’arachel at her sides, talking and laughing animatedly. He turns to leave, perhaps to explore the grounds before retiring for the night, before-

“Oi! Seth!” Ephraim’s voice booms across the hall.

Seth cringes. Of course, of all the people to spot him, it would be the one who’s invitation he could not refuse. He turns around slowly, locating the prince’s spiked hair easily in the crowd. He sits at a table with a bunch of other soldiers, all of whom have cups and flagons in their hands. Ephraim waives at him wildly as they make eye contact, the drink in his hand sloshing as he jostles it. Seth approaches the table as if afraid that it’s occupants might attack him, and in truth, he isn’t far off. Forde’s hand pulls him into a nearby seat as soon as he’s close enough to grab, and a cup of… something… is slid across the table to rest in front of him.

“It’s the good stuff, trust me. Works quickly.” Cormag says, his usually severe expression changed into something more relaxed as he mumbles into his own drink. Even the normally serious Kyle was delirious, staring into his cup as if it was whispering the secrets of the world to him. Seth looks to Forde, who seems the most conscious. Forde always did have a good tolerance for the so-called “good stuff”. 

“What is this?”

“ _Absinthe!_ These… uh, Rausten folks know how to party,” Ephraim shouts again, volume control long gone. His cheeks are flushed as he takes another gulp of the rat poison. Seth doesn’t touch his drink, instead looking over the table at Ephraim, who giggles hazily. 

“Milord, it can’t possibly be healthy-”

“Shut uuuuuuuuup,” the prince slurs pointing a finger at his knight. “We,” he gestures widely, smacking Kyle and Cormag in the face with his hands as he goes, “have EARNED this night of, uh, nonsense, and you have too. So… fuckin’ drink it already.”

Seth gave his liege an accusatory look, both for his drunken slurring and for his language.

“Eh, you don’t have to. They’re blasted; they won’t even remember that they asked you in ten minutes.” Forde whispers, leaning into Seth’s personal space. His glass is mostly full, and he’s the only one there who’s not one nudge away from falling out of his seat. 

Despite all common sense, Seth picks up the glass and smells it. “You’re sure this isn’t some of your paint thinner, Forde?”

Forde laughs before throwing back more of his own drink. “That shit’s expensive… I wouldn’t be handing it out all willy-nilly for everyone to choke on.”

Seth grimaces, but… he doesn’t have anywhere to be for the next day at least. He can afford to loosen up, even if it was only for a night; one drink was not going to do to him what it was clearly doing to the prince. He takes a sip.

It burns. He coughs into his sleeve as soon as it hits his stomach, Forde smacking him hard on the back as he goes. “There we go, General. I knew you had it in you.”

“That is _vile,_ ” he sputters as he reaches for one of the abandoned cups of water in the center of the table. “Have you all been drinking this the whole time?”

“Hehe, yeah. Uh... Sir.” Kyle smiles, hazy and glassy eyed. Ephraim slings his arm around the green knight’s shoulder, snuggling his face into his arm and closing his eyes, mumbling to himself all the while. Seth looks from one hazy pair of eyes to the next before reaching across the table and taking Ephraim’s glass of alcohol, replacing it with one of the water cups as he goes. Neither he nor the intoxicated men at his sides seem to notice.

“Good call,” Forde mumbles, taking yet another short sip from his cup. “I’m already gonna have to peel Kyle off the floor. I’m not strong enough to carry both of them.” The man’s words are fuzzy around the edges. Seth looks back down at his cup. Cormag was right; this stuff did kick in fast.

His attention is caught by Forde yelling something to his right, and he catches himself in the middle of taking another drink. Gagging only slightly, he puts the cup down, sliding it to the middle of the table where he would be less inclined to idly grab it. The taste clings to the corners of his mouth, even when he tries to wash it down with water. 

“Oi! Franz, are you ignoring me?” Forde calls again, speaking over Ephraim’s continued ramblings. The young man stops walking, shielding something behind his body as he gazes at his brother, guilt written all over his face.

“Y-yes?”

“What’cha got there?”

“Uh…”

“Drinking something?” Forde raises an eyebrow. 

“N…no…”

“Fraaaaanz?” Forde smirks as his brother teeters on the edge of making a break for it. The boy looks at Seth as if expecting help, but the older knight says nothing. He’s not on the clock right now, and while some decorum was expected from knights at all times, the prince of Renais was currently drooling on his retainer, so all bets were off.

Whatever’s in Franz’s cup, it’s a strange blue color, so instead of shouting, Forde just stares at it blankly. “That’s not absinthe, is it?”

“Uh… no, I don’t think so.”

“Is it alcoholic?”

“...Probably.”

“Who gave you that? Or did you slide it out of the hand of someone else?”

“Of course not!”

“...”

“ .... General Duessel gave it to me.”

Forde guffaws, slapping the table hard enough to upset some of the cups. “Eh, you’re what, fifteen? A night of indulgence won’t kill you. Don’t drink too much though. Be smart.”

Franz looks from his brother to his cup and back, nodding and skittering back to where Amelia and Ross stand in the corner, chatting some distance away from the drunken senior members of the army. Franz’s dealer stands at the front of the room, singing along to some old war tune; his arm wrapped around Garcia’s shoulder and swaying with every word. A small laugh leaves Seth before he can stop it. 

“Gods, it really does feel like the last night before the end of the world, doesn’t it,” Forde drawls, finally pushing away his half-empty glass. His hair is loose from its ponytail, and he blows strands out of his face as he raises his arms in a stretch. 

“It _is_ the last night before the end of the world.” Seth responds. He feels… fuzzy.

“Not true. We have a few days, don’t we?”

“I don’t count preparing to die as living.”

Across the table, Ephraim makes a mumbled comment that his drink tastes funny, still not processing that it’s been replaced with water. Forde chortles. “That’s been every day of our lives for months now… Though, I guess you’re right; was any of this really _living?_ ” 

How Forde was able to wax philosophical with that much alcohol in him, Seth would never know. Not trusting his tongue, he stays silent, looking hazily around the large room over the rim of his water. Everyone is here, as far as army members went. He catches sight of Eirika throwing her head back in laughter as L’arachel gasps for air, tears in her eyes visible from even this distance away. Tana and Natasha also laugh along with whatever they are talking about, the latter turning her head as Joshua settles heavily on the bench next to her, flagon in hand. 

Forde’s hand on his shoulder brings him back to awareness as he breaks his staring contest with the back of the princess’s head. Perhaps he had drank too much… his stomach hurts. The blond paladin’s voice drowns out Ephraim’s rambling once again.

“So!” He proclaims, gesturing to the other side of the table. “Sir Cormag… Do you come from a family of soldiers like the rest of us fools?”

Cormag shakes himself, blinking away confusion as his eyes flick back to his fellow table-mates. “Mmm… not even close. My family are… farmers. Dirt poor. When I was a kid, me and Glen- our job was to throw rocks and sticks at birds that got into the crops. Probably helped with my aim, if I’m being honest.”

The water clears Seth’s head enough that he feels safe to speak. “Why did you join the army then?”

“Uh, it’s a funny story, actually,” Cormag says, straightening up in his seat. “...The Emperor's caravan passed through our village one day... My- uh, Glen and I watched the procession from the top of a tree. Then, a stray dog started nipping at the horses pulling the Emperor's carriage. We threw rocks to drive off the mutt, but some soldiers decided to arrest us.”

“What for? Helping?”

“Oh no, we definitely hit some of the soldiers as well.”

“Ah… yes, that would do it.” Seth mumbles, smiling slightly. Maybe it was the alcohol speaking, but he truly did feel better than he had before.

“So then the Emperor shows up in the room the soldiers had thrown us. He looks around and, in this very calm but stern voice, says to the soldiers: ‘What are you men doing, arresting mere children? They were trying to help!’ Then, he invites us to dine at his table, and it was a luxurious feast, I tell you! Now, we were just kids. We lacked the basic courtesies. We were just filthy. And we kept droning on about the most idiotic things: chores, the village... But he listened to us, and he was smiling the whole time, you know? And he said, ‘You lads are good at driving off dogs with stones... Your skills are wasted in the fields. Let's see how you fare with spears instead.’”

“That’s how you were recruited?” Forde whistled, impressed. “How old were you two?”

“Uh… maybe ten or so? Well, _I_ was ten.”

“Damn, they recruit young over there. I didn’t join until I was… what… thirteen? And even then, I was just a squire.” Forde looks over at Seth. “How about you?”

“Hmm… thirteen as well, I think. No wait- twelve.”

Forde smirked. “Getting that one year jump on everyone else, no wonder you’re in charge.”

“Buuuuuut,” Ephraim peeled his face off the table, making Cormag jump. “Maybeeeeee... not much longer…”

Seth raised an eyebrow “Well, I don’t plan on dying in the woods, Milord.”

Ephraim giggled to himself. “That’s not what I meaaaaan…”

“Damn, fired right before the final battle. Tough luck.” Forde shakes his head, eyes closed as he sarcastically takes in Ephraim’s words. Seth frowns, feeling uneasy. Looking from Cormag’s distant gaze, to Kyle’s catatonic demeanor, to the prince’s glazed and delirious expression, he decides that he would have to ask what Ephraim meant… later. When the man was more conscious. 

“Hey, are you good?” Forde nudged him on the shoulder. “We’re obviously joking, ya’ know.”

“Of course,” Seth responds, but his heart isn’t in the festivities anymore. He wasn’t drunk enough to completely subdue his pessimistic nature. 

He stands from the table despite Ephraim’s arguing whine. “I’m not feeling well. I think I’m going to take a walk.” He turns around, before stopping. He wouldn’t be able to sleep in his current state of mind, now that worry had taken hold. He grabs the half full glass of absinthe left on the table, and without a second of hesitation, downs the whole thing in one go. Forde hollars excitedly as he turns his back again, wandering out of the hall before the alcohol asks him to reconsider.

The hallway starts tilting after only a minute of walking, and it’s then that Seth realizes that lacking an entire limb can’t mean good things for his alcohol tolerance. More drink per… blood… or something like that. He makes a hazy turn into a room that he thought was another hallway, but. It’s cold out here. And windy. And it smells like plants.

He sits on a nearby bench, out of the way of the evening breeze. The fresh air does little to clear his head, but sitting down makes him feel much less likely to fall over, so that's an improvement. He stares up at the moon, mulling over the conversation that had just taken place. Forde was probably right… the alcohol going to the prince’s head had made him speak nonsense. Why had Seth been worried? Or maybe he should be worried, but there was too much mental fuzz in the way...

The sound of voices in the distance eventually draws his attention, and he sees them in the window; Eirika and her friends, all stumbling and giggling like giddy children. They spill into the courtyard like ants looking for a meal, laughing in high pitched voices that make Seth’s head ache. He gets to his feet unsteadily, looking to get out of their way. Oh right… he was going to his room…

“Oh! Seth, this is where you were-” Eirika yells from across the garden. She abandons L’arachel and Tana to speed over to him, and even through the fog in his head he can see that her face is red with drunken glee. Her companions don’t even notice she’s gone; flopping into the grass near the entrance and gazing loudly up at the stars.

“Uh… yeah.” He says very intelligently. He tacks on a mumbled “Milady,” at the end for good measure. 

She grabs his hand, pulling him back towards the princesses on the grass. The action is enough to upset his precarious sense of balance, and he stumbles forwards slightly before regaining the ability to stand his ground. “Come on… we’re going to…” Eirika’s brow scrunches as she pauses to remember the end of her sentence.. “Oh! Yes, we’re going stargazing.”

He shakes her off of his hand, her grip boneless and floppy. “I can’t. I have…” He doesn’t have anywhere to be. In truth, he would very much like to stay here and sit in the grass with Eirika (even if her friends are around), but he can’t do that. It’s against the rules. “... things to do.”

She whines, pulling a very unladylike face. Still, it looks cute on her. “No you don’t… none of us do… that’s why,” she gestures widely; the same motion Ephraim had used to slap the people at the table with him only an hour or so before, “we had that great party. ‘Cause we’re all going to sleep in tomorrow before we have to do stuff.” She mumbles the end of her sentence, and it’s drowned out by L’arachel loudly announcing that she’s discovered a new planet.

“I can’t afford… to fool around.”

“That’s not true… you’re already drunk. We’re _all_ already druuuuunk.”

“I’m not drunk,” Seth lies. 

Eirika laughs at him. “Yes you are… your face is all red and you’re standing sideways. You’re never sideways.”

He straightens his back as much as he can manage without falling over. “You’re sideways, Milady,” he retorts, only to feel terrible about using such a heinous insult on his liege.

“Haha… yeah.” She lets out another hoarse giggle, but doesn’t attempt to recapture his hand. He steps carefully away, towards the door on the far side of the courtyard. A shout from Eirika stops him from leaving, and when he turns around, she’s behind him again, eyes glassy in the light of a nearby lantern. 

“Before you go… I have something for you.”

Seth narrows his eyes at her suspiciously. Given her current state, he expects it to either be a semi-eaten piece of food, or a small wild animal. “Yes..?”

She waives him closer, moving with a sense of urgency. He takes a cautious step forward, heel of his boot sliding slightly on the gravel of the path. When he’s within arm’s distance of her, her hand wraps itself in the fabric of his shirt, yanking him forwards. His balance fails him again, and he takes a stumbling step towards her as she pulls him in.

Before he can ask what she’s doing, she yanks his face down to her level and kisses him squarely on the mouth. 

It’s not a good kiss; uncomfortably clumsy and fatally short, but it’s enough to make Seth reel back towards the door as Eirika giggles. He can’t find his words, but Eirika doesn’t give him a chance to collect himself before stepping forward again.

“Seeeeeeee? I do want you around! I promise-” He doesn’t hear the end of her sentence, the door to the courtyard slamming as he flees the scene of the crime. 

Behind him, L’arachel hollers something about star signs.

\---

_He shoves Forde roughly with the butt of his lance, sending the taller boy off balance and tumbling into the dirt. From the other side of the fence, some of the onlookers cheer weakly, barely paying attention to the sparring trainees._

_Forde lays in the dust, his lance rolling from his grip onto the ground next to him. He closes his eyes with a mumble of “Father, I’m done for the day.”_

_Sir Matheo raises an eyebrow at his son, and with a waive of the hand, dismisses the practicing trainees. They disperse quickly, most heading to the mess hall for a late lunch. Seth stays put, leaning slightly on his practice lance as the paladin grabs his son’s arm and hauls him to his feet. He doesn’t listen to their quiet exchange, but he does nod at the senior officer as the man lumbers by, following his students as they chase the promise of food._

_Forde dusts off his hands, suddenly looking much less tired. He shoots Seth a sly smile, which nets him a disapproving glare in return. Forde rolls his eyes. “Oh, don’t give me that look.”_

_“You could have trained for far longer. Are you even tired?”_

_“Eh,” Forde shrugs, shoulder length blond hair settling back into place after he shakes the dirt out of it like a dog. “A tiredness of the mental sort.”_

_“That doesn’t count.”_

_“Sure it does! If your mind isn’t focused on your work, then you won’t do well, even if your body is totally ready. It’s basic science.”_

_“I think that only applies when you have something serious to think about.”_

_“Boredom is a serious thing.”_

_“Only for you,” Seth grumbles. He’s looking forward to the arrival of Forde’s supposed ‘childhood best friend’ in a few months. A change in sparring partners would be a breath of fresh air. “If you don’t want to train, then why are you even here?”_

_“Dad would kick my ass if I was late.”_

_“No I mean, why did you join the army? Or did your father ask that of you as well?”_

_Forde puts a thoughtful finger to his chin. “Partially. The family business and all- you understand.” Seth nods. The expectations for children of knights and generals, especially accomplished ones, were heavy. Forde continues, “But really, I think if I quit, he wouldn’t be too angry about it… I’ve been practicing my art a lot more recently… and I’ve gotten good enough that even he gets impressed. I think that if I became a craftsman instead, he wouldn’t have a problem with it.”_

_“If you enjoy art, why don’t you just go through with that then? Sounds like it's a better fit for you.”_

_“Well, to be honest… I’m trying to set an example for my little brother… he wants to be a knight when he grows up, or so he says…”_

_“How old is he?” Seth asks. He’s heard Forde speak of Franz before, but hasn’t met the kid._

_“Oh… he’s only five, but by the gods, he’s already got his heart set on it. And I want to make him proud, you know? Him and dad both.”_

_Seth raises an eyebrow. “Don’t you think training for the full time would make them more proud?”_

_Forde rolls his eyes. “Listen. Franz isn’t old enough to see me actually in training yet. When he’s big enough to come watch, then I’ll really start putting in the work. I just wanted to get my foot in the door.”_

_“I look forward to his presence then. Maybe I’ll actually have a sparring partner who tries.”_

_Forde punches him lightly in the shoulder, more friendly than irritated. “Listen. You’re welcome to go for all that senior office stuff you talk about, I’m just here to guide my little brother until he’s big enough to guide himself.”_

_“Still. I feel like having a full training session without you proclaiming that you’ve broken something is a small ask on my part.”_

_“We’ll see, we’ll see.”_


	8. aequō

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last chapter!!! sorry for being so bad at writing romance i usually stick with horror TAT!!

If he wasn’t avoiding the princess before, he sure as hell is now. 

He manages to stay out of her reach for a whole day, turning and walking to deal with ‘important business’ whenever she approaches. It’s cowardly, to be darting away at the first sign of turquoise hair, but he doesn’t know what else he’s supposed to do. Bringing it up would draw attention to the situation, but ignoring it was equally inappropriate. Perhaps it would be better feign forgetfulness? He had been drunk, after all. He could tell her that the night had been a blur, and he remembered nothing of it. Or maybe, in the best case scenario, she had forgotten the incident herself. She had been far more intoxicated than he was…

The longer he hovers outside of Eirika’s view, the more suspicious he looks. He’d blamed it on a hangover, and in part, it’s not a lie. His head hurts even now, after the final preparations for tomorrow are done and everyone has crawled back into their beds, preparing for the long march ahead. 

He can’t sleep. There’s no more alcohol left for him to drown his thoughts in, and even if there was, it would be irresponsible to partake considering the battles to come. The Demon King- or Lyon- or whatever awaited them in the woods- would not go easy on them. He beats exhaustion into his brain the old fashioned way.

Rausten’s training yard is smaller than the one in Renais, but it still has all the necessary equipment and more than enough space. He’s the only one here, so he spends a great deal of time pacing from one end of the courtyard to the other, wooden sword in hand as he mimics short jabs and slashes in the empty air. The candlelight is dim out here, and using a real weapon while his mind was so distracted would only spell disaster. 

“Oh!” someone just within earshot proclaims. He looks up from his practice to see the one person he’s been doing his best to avoid.

“Princess,” he says, hesitating mid swing. She hovers at the entrance, looking anywhere but him. 

“Um… hello there, Seth. How… how have you been?” She says, finally meeting his eyes. The knight’s heart sinks; she remembers everything as well, and she feels just as awkward about it.

“Busy.”

“Ah, yes, well. Haven’t we all.”

Seth nods, lowering his sword slowly. He can’t possibly get any practice done while she was here. He would have to find distractions elsewhere.

“Seth-” she starts as he walks past her, back towards the warmth of the castle. “I wanted to… apologize. For my actions. Last night, I mean.”

He stays silent, unsure of what response would be appropriate in this situation. It’s not like he’s disgusted or angry. He isn’t even that upset; the more he thinks about it, the more he posthumously realizes he may have even enjoyed the kiss, or at least what it could have been. It was just that… Eirika was a princess, and Seth was a dead man walking. For her to show favoritism among her knights like that… it was ill advised. Especially considering the very near future, where Seth more than expected to take injuries meant for the Princess. Injuries that could very well be lethal. To reciprocate, only to break her heart a day later… The thought disgusted him. 

Eirika continues, filling the silence she had left for him. “I know you must be angry; what I did was entirely inappropriate, but please, see it in your heart to forgive me. I imbibed in too much drinking and merriment, and I’m afraid it went to my head… I was so happy, and that giddiness took ahold of my common sense…”

“It’s quite alright, Princess,” Seth starts with a sigh. “I also made some… poor decisions last night.” She raises an eyebrow at him, but doesn’t ask. 

“Alright, well… I’m glad to know that everything’s alright… Say, while we’re here, would you like to spar with me? If you could check my form before tomorrow’s battle-” She trots by him, grabbing a wooden sword from the weapons rack. Seth’s heart sinks. Despite the awkwardness, she still wanted his company?

He clears his throat as he turns to face her hesitantly. “...Princess Eirika, before you begin, I have something I must say to you.”

She looks at him, suspicion and worry crossing her face. “Yes? What is it?”

“You’ll have to forgive my rudeness,” Seth starts, taking a deep breath. This would not be easy. “I think that you should find someone else to oversee your training.”

“Why? Truly, if I offended you, please tell me- I’m very sorry,” She says, placing the sword back on the rack and wringing her hands nervously.

“No-” Seth motions, “Well- Princess, frankly, it’s unbecoming for someone of your noble birth to fraternize with commoners in this way. Now that we have connected with the royal children of every country on Magvel, I think that you should… consult them from now on. Perhaps Innes or Joshua would be a more suitable sparring companion than me.”

“What are you saying? You don’t want me around anymore?”

“No!” He speaks up quickly, “No… Milady, your company is always wonderful… but this is for your sake… No knight should be treated with the favoritism you have shown me over the last few months… It is my duty to fight and die for you. Becoming overly attached- it’s not good for you. Especially now.”

“What do you mean by  _ now _ ?”

“...Princess, I promise that no harm will come to you tomorrow. I intend on protecting you with my life.”

Eirika gazes at him sadly. It’s not a look of astonishment or anger; she already knows everything that Seth has told her. But it’s a reminder that stings. “I know,” she whispers. 

“And besides…” Seth continues, “If you were to favor one of your subjects over the others… how can you expect the rest to swear fealty to you? They will all come to expect and demand your intention in time.”

“...”

“You must forgo such attachments for the sake of your country, Princess.”

“I know, Seth.”

“Good, then if you could please excuse me,” He looks back towards the door, but is stopped by another call from the princess.

“Please, grant me one last indulgence then,” she demands, taking a step forward, expression hardened.

“Yes?”

“You never showed me your wound. The one you got as we fled. May I see it?”

He hesitates. He’s already refused her so much; what was one more selfish action on his part? “Um… to be honest, I don’t like showing it to people. It’s not fully healed.”

“But you said it was fine a few weeks ago!”

It is fine, but the scars haven’t settled yet. The nerves that have busied themselves with regrowing since the accident continue to misfire beneath his skin. The torn muscle and severed bones ache when he moves around too much, sometimes going as far as causing minor tears in the scars due to over-exercise. It’s an ugly wound, unfit to be viewed by her. 

“It’s healed, but not fully. It still bothers me… and it will probably continue to bother me until my death.” He remained deliberately vague as to when that fateful date might occur. Saying ‘until tomorrow’ would be needlessly cruel. 

She sighs, but does not ask again. Instead she looks at her twisted fingers, avoiding his gaze. “It’s my fault… you suffered for me…”

“As is my duty.”

“I know, Seth. You don’t have to keep repeating yourself… I’m just thinking out loud. It’s just that… As we fled from the soldiers of Grado... You held me tight, keeping me safe from the enemy's blades... Perhaps...I did feel something more for you then. But...it was improper for a queen of Renais. And with my father dead, I suppose that is my station. I am a queen, and you are a knight in my service. If I do not keep this in mind, then I will never be able to rebuild our kingdom.”

“Correct, Milady. Thank you for understanding.” She remains silent, so he continues, slowly turning towards the exit. “If you would please excuse me…” Clearly she needed some time alone to sort through her feelings. Speaking of feelings, his heart feels as if it were trying to escape his ribs, hammering as he slowly walks away. What he’d said was the truth; Eirika had responsibilities, as did he. If those responsibilities were ignored, terrible things could happen, both to them and the country as a whole… So then why does the thought of walking away make him feel so sick..?

He stops moving when the feeling becomes too much to bear. Looking back over his shoulder, he can see that Eirika hasn’t budged; she’s still standing in the middle of the dusty yard, hands folded tightly and eyes cast down to the earth. She looks like someone in dire need of comfort. Seth sighs. 

“Princess Eirika… if you would allow me to say one more thing.” It’s a bad idea, but he’s already running his mouth.

She looks up at him, cautiously curious. 

“..That night... I felt what you felt. When I held you in my arms as we rode into the night... It was the first time since I was knighted that I forgot my duty. I thought of you not as my queen, but rather as someone I wanted to protect from all harm. I wanted to leave everything behind... To take you far away to someplace where we could be together…” Of course those thoughts had been made in a pain and curse fueled haze, but they still hang at the back of his head, even now.

Eirika’s eyes widen. “Seth… but then…” She’s bewildered, and to be honest, so was he. Why the hell did he admit that to her? This wouldn’t do anything to persuade her to leave him be; quite the opposite. 

He continues, backpedaling towards hopes of a more professional relationship. “I promise to you: I will never forget my station like that again. It was a moment of weakness brought on by fear and pain, but I have adapted and become stronger. I’ve learned my mistake.”

“Mistake!?” She proclaims, but he interrupts her.

“The next time we speak, it will be as a princess and a knight, and nothing more. I fully intend to lay down my life for you.” He bows, and after a pause, she nods her head.

“I… I understand, Seth. But, if we do make it through this battle… I want you to promise me something.”

“...Perhaps. What is it?”

“Nothing insane, I assure you. I simply want to speak with you again when all of this is done. Just you and me, in private conversation.”

He sighs. The finality of statements was not sacred here. “Of course, Milady. I’d be happy to speak with you, provided that the world hasn’t ended by then.”

She smiles, and it’s the mildly cocky grin she’s picked up from her brother as of late. “Well then. I best begin my training for tomorrow. Clearly, this battle will be even more important than originally thought.”

He raises an eyebrow, but says nothing more as he excuses himself. Despite the dour tone of the conversation, he can’t help but feel a bit better. 

Eirika has that kind of effect on people.

\---

_ The Demon King is a terrifying beast. It flickers in and out of existence; it wears a thousand faces, it has a thousand names, and looks down at Seth with its thousand eyes.  _

_ It looks like Valter, cranium flayed as he sways on the back of his headless wyvern. He holds his accursed lance aloft in the air like a trophy as his brain swirls around in his skull; splashing over the edges of that bone-plated chalice like a bad wine. He laughs in threats and gurgles, and Legna beneath him heaves its limp body across the temple floor; esophagus and trachea retching up blood and stomach acid that muscle and tongue can no longer hold down.  _

_ It looks like Clara, eyes bulging and apron covered in blood; hands still stained from the insides of a person she could not save. She sobs openly, proclaiming that she can’t do this, that her service to the crown, even as a cleric, will do more harm than good. Despite her protests, the stains on her sleeves creep ever upwards, peeling back her skin until her blood runs with that of her former patient.  _

_ It looks like Carlyle, eyes frantic as he gazes at the rapier buried in his gut, He drops his own sword, falling backwards onto the gilded throne of Jehanna, blood seeping into the cracks of its finery and staining the red cushions a further brown.  _

_ It looks like Natasha, white robes weighed down with bile as she hangs lifelessly from the tendrils of an arch mogull. Her staff shatters as it hits the ground, and her body becomes but a white speck in a sea of blackness as the monster putters away into the void to devour its meal. _

_ It looks like Orson, eyes wide in a fit of hedonism as he sits atop his wife’s rotting corpse, The wound in his shoulder and neck sprays blood upon them both. The repulsive scene is dyed red, and blood and maggots mix on the surface of Monica’s skin, contorting into a crawling, bile fueled mass. _

_ It looks like Kyle, falling off his horse and shattering on the ground as his muscles seize, a final refusal of the gorgon’s fate sending him to his grave. _

_ It looks like Ephraim, surrounded by the enemy, way in over his head with no escape in sight. _

_ It looks like Eirika, limp on the floor, blood pooling beneath her head.  _

_ It looks like- _

\---

The Demon King looks like Lyon, until it doesn’t.

Eirika stands before the necromancer’s body, grip tight on the weapon in her hands. Sieglinde glimmers in the light of the torches like a ruby, dripping steadily onto the tiled floor. Lyon’s body does not twitch; his final breaths have already left him. The necrodragon that Seth is barely holding back roars before falling off the platform and into the abyss below, its source of power drained. Around the army, monsters slump to the ground in a similar manner; dead, even if they haven’t been touched by a blade yet. Seth takes a deep breath and shakes out his arm. The Princess’s timing was perfect. He wouldn’t have been able to hold it back much longer. 

The corpse at Eirika’s feet begins to glow, and she jumps back in surprise, stumbling to where her horse stands patiently at the foot of the stairs. Lyon’s body fizzles and sputters, boiling from the inside out, and for a moment Seth fears that it will explode- but the knight blinks, and when he opens his eyes, Lyon is gone. Only a stain on the floor remains.

Seth rides to Eirika’s side as she hoists herself up onto her horse, shoulders sagging. “Are you alright, Milady?”

“Oh, yes Seth, I’m fine. He didn’t even put a scratch on me…” He had seen her fight, the way she’d brushed off his attacks with almost no effort at all. Even his unearthly magic was no strength for her speed and dexterity as she flitted between strikes, her aim truer than her opponent's. “But… I don’t understand… Where did he go? Something isn’t right here…”

“I don’t know. Stay on your guard.” 

She nods at him, urging her horse to jump to the upper floor. Seth follows suit, his mount landing in the puddle of blood that was all that remained of Grado’s former prince.

The torches all flicker and die at the same time, bathing the inner temple in darkness. Over the confused shouts of the army, a voice, deep and unholy, booms. 

**“... The time has come.”**

“ _ What was that? _ ” Eirika squeaks as her brother joins them on the platform, swearing under his breath. The voice answers, and no name is needed for introductions.

**“My resurrection is at hand.”**

Laughter rings around the chamber as the floor rumbles. Unseen dust falls from the ceiling, startling Seth as it lands in his hair. He shakes it away, looking around wildly for even the tiniest bit of light, but none was to be found. 

**“Well done, Lyon…”**

The voice croons, guttural and inhuman. Someone at the back of the party has lit a torch, and Seth’s horse casts a long shadow that reaches the massive stone door at the end of the room. The room from which the voice emanates, impossibly loud.

**“The sacrifice of your flesh and the sum of your efforts…”**

Eirika looks over her shoulder, and her expression is one of naked fear.

**“...They were all for naught.”**

Seth convinces his horse forward, so that he might stand beside her. 

**“Grado’s disaster cannot be averted.”**

From behind the door, a great grinding sound emanates. The sound of something very heavy shuffling across a stone floor.

**“My resurrection is at hand.”**

Seth makes way as L’arachel pushes forwards, one hand on her staff, the other in her pocket, where she tightly grips Magvel’s last sacred stone.

**“All this time, you imagined yourself in possession of your own free will, but it was I that planted the seeds from which your ambitions grew.”**

Eirika’s jaw physically clenches, her face transforming into a mask of seething anger.

**“My deceit made you my puppet, and oh, how you danced at the end of my strings.”**

The beast insults Lyon’s memory, and Eirika’s grip on Sieglinde is crushing. 

**“You never could have been saved. It’s a shame, isn’t it, Lyon?”**

The door ahead begins to slide open. It’s bright on the other side, as if the inner temple possessed its own purple, pulsing sun. Lightning crackles as soldiers finally find their bearings, dashing into position on the stairs behind the princess. Seth squints in the sudden brightness, picking out a shape from the light. Something large. Something hulking. Something inhuman. 

**“And now I…”**

The lightning stops, and the room beyond dims enough that Seth can see the face of the devil fully, its one eye glowing in the dust that falls continues to stream from the ceiling tiles. 

**“I AM REBORN.”**

The beast roars, spreading it’s ship-sized wings until they span the room and scratch at the ceiling. Ephraim raises his lance with a cry before spurring his horse forward, never one for waiting around. The rest of the army responds to his rally with yells of their own, surging after him into the brightness. Seth races after Eirika, exchanging his sword for a lance. It’s the sort he preferred to use before the war; silver, heavy, and reliable. Better suited to fighting a demon than Silverbrand, which was now worn with use; bent and chipping.

“Demon King!” Ephraim roars, stopping just within earshot of the beast. It turns its eye upon the prince. “You are responsible for all the misery we have seen! You’re the one who turned our friend into a shambling husk!”

“Brother,” Eirika says, voice wavering with hesitation. “This power… it’s different…”

Ephraim looks to her, nodding in agreement. “It’s unlike anything we’ve faced before… But that doesn’t matter. I’ve learned so much, and my lance is stronger than ever.”

“As is my sword,” Eirika responds, determination alighting on her face.

Ephraim speaks to the army now, turning on his horse to face everyone. “That thing deceived and murdered our friend. It threatens life as we know it. No matter what, we must destroy it!” He raises Siegmund, and the more confident soldiers among them cheer wildly.

L’arachel approaches, sacred stone tight in her grip. “The power of the stone is taken from the strength in our hearts… from the strength of our bonds! We do not need to pray to the stone, we need only look towards a brighter future, and put in the effort to see it realized!”

Ephraim laughs, cocky and sure despite the terrible odds. “Well then! You all heard the lady! This is our last chance, so everyone, give it your all!”

Eirika raises her sword alongside her brother. “Let’s finish this!”

Seth isn’t a holy man, but he mumbles a prayer under his breath as everyone else clamors and yells around them. Everyone gravitates towards those their closest friends and loved ones, seeking out the bonds that L’arachel had spoken of. Hesitantly, he moves a little closer to Eirika.

At the other end of the hall, the demon king sneers, hissing at the group.

**“Abominable sacred stone… I will not suffer imprisonment again. You possess only one. You cannot fully imprison me with that mere toy.”**

Its wings flap, sending a gust of wind powerful enough to knock the infantry back a step towards the army. Seth shields his face, looking away for a moment as he blinks dust out of his eyes.

**“I will grind that wretched rock and your accursed bones into powder!”**

L’arachel holds the stone above her head, and it glows with blinding white light as an earthquake rocks through the room. Across the room, the Demon King’s spirit is torn from his body, rushing towards the stone and collecting inside as he roars in anger. 

Ephraim blinks, coughing. “Did we do it?”

“Yes!” L’arachel proclaims as she lowers the stone, cradling it to her chest protectively. “We did it! The Demon King’s soul has been bound once more!” Seth breathes a sigh of slight relief, but the princess isn’t done speaking yet. “Its soul rages against the bars of its prison. We must return it to its proper place, and quickly!”

“But the body-” Eirika says, staring at where the behemoth continues to stand, as strong as it was before.

“We must defeat the Demon King’s soulless body!” L’arachel proclaims, shoving the sacred stone into her bag for safe keeping. 

“Gods… that thing?” Eirika breathes. To be so powerful, even with its soul entombed… 

“Uh-huh... The real battle is just beginning. Our ancestors paid dearly for their victory. A mountain of corpses… It’s written that the Demon King was surrounded by the dead as he fell.” L’arachel says, her usually chipper demeanor turning grim. 

The twins exchange a somber look as Seth speaks up in their stead. “We are all prepared to do what must be done.” Eirika shifts her gaze from her brother to her knight, expression teetering on the edge of speaking up, but the argument never comes.

“No, we can handle it. No one else dies in this frivolous war!” Ephraim announces. With a cry, he begins his charge toward the beast. 

“Seth! With me!” Eirika yells as the army surges forward. He falls into formation behind her, picking up speed as they reach the platform upon which the Demon King stands, already entrenched in battle with Ephraim. The prince’s lance is a mere needle in the foot of the monster, but it’s a needle that stabs with holy magic. Bumblebees can fell a wyvern with their stings if given time, so Seth and Eirika join in, poking at the demon’s back as Ephraim distracts it from the front. 

Seth hisses as the demon’s unholy magic grazes the back of his head, singeing his hair. He winds up for another strike at its tail, only to narrowly miss being crushed by it as it sweeps across the floor, knocking mounts aside and sweeping soldiers off their feet. Eirika runs past him on her own two feet, and he calls out to her as he skids to a stop at her side behind a pillar. “Milady, what happened to your horse?”

She takes a deep breath, huffing from the strain of weaving and dodging her way over here. “One… one of its legs got slashed and it fell… I think it got stepped on.”

“But you’re okay?” Seth kicks himself for not noticing.

“Yes- just, huhhhh… tired. I barely made it- I would have gotten knocked off the edge… Stupid human legs… can’t go as fast as a horse…” She continues taking deep breaths, shaking out her tense muscles. Seth glances around, searching for monsters that might attack them as they stood idly on the edge of the battle. He turns his head towards the action as someone, probably L’arachel, begins chanting a spell that fills the cavern with holy light. Eirika blinks back the brightness as it fades away, looking at Seth and leaning to hide behind his horse.

“Milady, perhaps you would consider riding with me,” he asks, sticking his lance under his arm and holding his hand out. She takes it without hesitation, taking a seat in front of him.

“Ah, this is perfect,” she says after a moment of adjusting her clothing and armor.

“Oh?” Seth spurs his horse back into the action as she nods. They trot just outside of the Demon King’s range, looking for an opening.

“You see, Seth, you are far less likely to throw yourself into danger like a fool if I am sitting in front of you.” He frowns, but she continues as she slashes into a wight, killing it. “And now you don’t have to worry about losing track of me during the fight. A win for both of us, wouldn’t you say?”

“...I suppose.”

“Excellent, now- full speed ahead! The demon looks weakened; we can finish this!”

The beast in question slumps slightly; it’s legs full of so many holes and slashes that they are bathed red. It’s a miracle it can even stand. The light glancing off of Magvel’s sacred weapons makes color dance across the walls and ceiling, and Sieglinde is no different. It remains beautiful, even as it plunges into the monster’s heel. 

There’s a roar as the Demon King is brought to its knees, legs finally too weak to support its tremendous weight. Ephraim dodges a massive clawed hand, ducking under the limb and racing to Seth’s position, face streaked with sweat. He’s smiling somehow, and the knight can’t help but raise his brow. Even in a fight against a god… the man’s rough and tumble nature has made it through unscathed. 

Ephraim looks from Eirika to Seth appraisingly. “Oh? And what’s going on here?”

“Shut up, brother. I lost my horse.”

Ephraim tuts loudly as they back up, dodging a sloppy attack from their greatest enemy. “Of course you did,” he smirks, waiving his shield arm lackadaisically. Seth grimaces.

“Milord-”

“ _ Shut up Ephraim! Now isn’t the time! _ ”

The prince laughs. “Of course it isn’t! Come on now; let’s finish this battle so that I might have the chance to mock you a thousand times after this!” He charges back towards the fray.

“Seth! Follow suit!” Eirika orders as Seth digs in his heels. They gallop forward, meeting Ephraim at the Demon King’s front. Its arms, as peppered with wounds as its legs, ooze dark blood over the stonework, transforming the battlefield into a tar pit. With a groan, even these limbs give way, causing the behemoth to fall forward onto its face. It turns its head to the side, and releases another tide of luminous magic from its eye, which spooks their horse but doesn’t hit them directly. 

“Milady! The eye!” Seth yells over the clamor. 

“Bring us there!”

They skid forward on the slick ground, and the eye in question begins to glow with horrific power again as they approach. Seth moves to swerve their horse out of the way before the light goes out suddenly. The monster roars, massive fangs on display as it opens its mouth in a lipless scream. Ephraim has punctured it’s throat, and it turns its attention upon him. The prince is cornered against the beast’s neck; his escape path blocked by one of the creature’s massive horns. If they didn’t finish this now, then Ephraim would-

“An opening!” Eirika shrieks, focused on the distracted target like a hungry hawk. Seth forces the horse forwards, and the princess raises her mighty blade again, its silver edge casting the demon’s foul light around the room like a kaleidoscope.

She brings Sieglinde down.

It connects with lethal accuracy, slashing the soft organ with deliberate force. Blood and bile run down the Demon King’s face like paint, and it writhes as sight is ripped from its mutilated body.

Light, blinding and holy, flashes around the room, and everyone pauses as the monsters they are fighting drop to the ground, dead. All eyes turn upon the eyeless one, and its gaping maw opens to let out one last gut-wrenching scream, loud enough to shatter windows had there been any in this infernal temple.

The body decays before their eyes, fragmenting into limb segments, then chunks of flesh, then particles, before atomizing into what could barely be called dust. Eirika coughs and waves a hand in front of her face as the cloud sweeps over the room.

And then, there’s nothing. 

The world stills. 

It’s over.

\---

He finds her outside of the temple, sitting under a tree with her eyes closed. They march back to Renais first thing tomorrow, but for now, injuries were being treated and rest was being enjoyed by all. The woods were relatively safe now that the Demon King was gone; all the monsters and fiends banished along with their dark lord. The most dangerous things out here were bears, but if the army could come out of a fight with a fallen god unscathed, then the local wildlife should be no problem at all. 

Eirika opens an eye as he steps on a twig, alerted to his presence and tensing for a second before slipping back into her relaxed poise. “Seth…”

“Milady. Are you alright?”

“Oh, just fine. Exhausted- I don’t think I’ll leave my bed again the next time I lay down- but fine. You?”

“Alright. Much of the same.”

“Come. Sit down with me. Relax a bit.”

He hesitates before complying, crossing his legs next to the princess on the leafy ground. They’re far enough from everyone else to be out of earshot, and it’s making Seth nervous. 

“You, uh, wanted to speak with me. After the battle. Remember?”

“Of course I remember, Seth. I’ve been waiting for you here…” she sighs, closing her eyes again and relaxing further back into the rough bark of the tree. 

“Uh…”

“That was rough, wasn’t it? The whole fight. The whole war, even.”

“Ah, yes. You’ve ushered in a new era of peace due to your hard work now…”

“Not just me. Ephraim helped. You helped. All of you helped.”

“Of course.” He nods, even though she isn’t looking. 

“Tell me, Seth. What are your plans? What are you going to do when you get home?”

“Clean my office,” he grumbles, and Eirika laughs. 

“Well, yes- I think my own quarters are in quite the state too now that you mention it; but I meant… What are you going to do… more long term?”

“I’ll continue serving you and your brother, of course. As long as I am wanted. Your safety is all that matters to me, Princess Eirika.”

She continues smiling, as if she’s privy to some secret she’s refusing to share. “It’s comforting to know that. I don’t know what I’d do without you. I’ll be needing far more protection from now on too…”

“Oh? Why is that?”

“Can you keep a secret, just until we return to the castle.”

Seth narrows his eyes. “...I suppose.”

“It’s nothing bad, I promise. It’s just that… I spoke to Ephraim just before the battle… He wants me to take the throne in his place.”

The knight looks at her, astonished. “Why is that?”

“He never really wanted to be king, you know? He’s too much of a wild spirit for that. He wants to travel, to see more of the world, help rebuild in the wake of the Demon King- stuff like that.”

Seth nods hesitantly. To be fair, he should have seen this one coming; the prince wasn’t one for meetings and study, and that wasn’t likely to change. “So then… you will be queen?”

“The coronation will take place days after we get to the castle. Just a small celebration, and then we get right to restoring Renais…” She sighs wistfully. “It will be a very long time before it looks like the country I so fondly remember… but I plan on working hard, for as long as it takes.”

“It will be a massive undertaking. It would be an honor to continue assisting you.”

She giggles again, and he shoots her another side-eye. What was she up to..?

“Tell me Seth. If I was to ask you a very personal question, would you answer it?”

His heart rate begins to pick up. Something about this was making him… nervous. “Uh… probably, Milady. Within reason, at least.”

Eirika nods. Her eyes are still closed, hands folded calmly in her lap. “Do you still love me?”

He freezes, and he’s glad that she’s not looking at him, because he must look very foolish right now. He carefully mulls over the question, before giving a measured, planned answer. “All knights love their lieges, Milady.”

“You know that’s not what I mean. When we spoke, you said you felt something for me- as we ran. Something greater than loyalty. I want to know; do you still feel it? Or has war beaten it out of you?”

“...”

“No one can hear us. You can speak plainly.” She pauses, clicking her tongue before smirking slightly. She grows more like her brother every day. “Pre-emptive Queen’s order.”

“Princess,” he says in a low voice, making extra sure no one is within earshot, “we spoke about this… it isn’t right-”

“I’m not asking if it’s right, Seth.”

He sighs, leaning back against the tree himself. Its bark is smoother than it looks. “... Yes.”

“Was that truly so hard to say?”

“Yes.”

“Well… despite your best efforts, I must admit that I still have feelings for you as well.” She opens her eyes just in time to catch Seth shaking his head.

“No- Princess-”

“Wait, before you argue with me- what are your reasons? You didn’t want me to grow attached because you feared that you might die today, but you’re still here. What excuse do you have now for pushing me away?”

“Regardless of the result of today’s battle, there will be a thousand battles in the future, and I’ll be defending you from all of them. Demon King or common bandit, any knight can fall at any time. To grow attached, especially to one in particular…”

“What battles? You just congratulated me for ushering in an era of peace! The most intense battle either of us will be facing for some time will be against stonemasons and groundskeepers. We are entering an era of restoration, after all. Besides,” she says, speaking quietly, “Ephraim has been advocating for your retirement for a while now. Basically any time you’re not there. And… I agree with him. You’ve done more than your fair share of service, and you’ve given more for the sake of Renais than almost anyone I know… Even if another war broke out, I don’t think I would ever send you to the front lines.”

Seth blinks himself out of his thoughts. She’s right, of course. He could fight for decades after this if he really wanted to, but major conflict was unlikely for a long time. By the time it was reasonable, he would be very old, or possibly dead.

“Not all battles are on the field, Milady. Regardless of how the general public sees you, there will still be those who will send assassins your way. You will need a guard for that.”

“There’s hundreds of very capable soldiers that can fill those shoes. I have a more important job for you. A promotion, if you will.”

“...”

“You have been a voice of reason for me throughout the entire war, and my father valued your council immensely. Perhaps… you would consider becoming an advisor instead? You know a lot about the inner workings of the government… and while I’ve learned a lot about war, I’m still a bit light on leadership knowledge… “

The idea of change made Seth unsure and upset, but after a moment of thought… All of Renais’ past advisors were probably dead at the hands of Grado’s forces. He might be one of the few people qualified for the job. Not to mention… his injury was terribly strained from fighting continuously for months. Giving it a chance to heal would probably be a good idea...

“...I would consider it.”

“Would you consider becoming a little more than that?”

He glares at her again. “Princess… It’s inappropriate.”

“Knights aren’t supposed to court their lieges?”

“Exactly.”

“How about former knights? Advisors, even?”

He freezes. She smiles. He has no legs to stand on here. There’s a historical record of royalty marrying members of their council. Fado himself had married his strategist.

“... Surely,” he asks, “it would be wiser to marry either Prince Innes or Prince Joshua… maybe even Princess L’arachel-”

“A political marriage? After everything all of us have been through, you think we’re all at risk of turning on each other?”

“Of course not, but just to be safe…”

“I will be safe. I will be safe with you.”

She opens her eyes, blinking at him as if waking from a deep sleep. He doesn’t know what to say, so Eirika speaks in his place.

“I won’t force you… but I know it would make me happy… and I think it would make you happy too.”

A bird flutters overhead nearby, no longer cowering from monsters. 

“It would,” he responds quietly. 

She scoots a bit closer, up onto the tree root that separates them. His muscles clench for a second, instinct telling him to back up, he’s in her space-

But that’s what she wants. And he wants it too.

“I ask you again, Seth… do you love me?”

She leans against him, and he does not push her away. 

“Yes, Eirika. I have always loved you.”

And finally, peace descends. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you enjoyed!!! again i do read and respond to comments so feel free to do so... i always appreciate it!!! i worked on this for almost a month and a half so i hope you liked reading it as much as i liked writing it!!


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